


lacuna

by spideychellehoco



Series: parker luck [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alien Technology, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Depression, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Iron-Dad, Kidnapping, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Superheroes, The Vulture - Freeform, Torture, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 39,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideychellehoco/pseuds/spideychellehoco
Summary: "Because Mr Stark thought he would be fine. And so did Peter. Peter always ended up fine.Because he had made everyone worried - Aunt May, Ned, Michelle, even Liz.Because he was never good enough for Mr Stark. Because he never will be.And mostly, because he was scared. Because he wasn't alright. Because with every passing hour, minute, second, he was dying.And because Mr Stark had no idea. And neither did he."...lacunaləˈkjuːnə/Submitnoun1. an unfilled space; a gap.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, readers!  
> So, this fanfic was originally posted on my Wattpad account (LuvForStydia), but I decided I would post it book-by-book here - I know many people on ArchiveOfOurOwn aren't on Wattpad :)  
> I hope you enjoy, please leave kudos/comments if you would like to.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings etc. in this story! This is strictly just a fan-fiction based on Spider-Man: Homecoming. All original elements belong to Marvel. 

Authors Note: This is a fan-fiction (I own the plot) mainly about Peter Parker, i.e. Spider-Man. He will be the main character and will sport two different ships; Liz and Peter/MJ and Peter. Just like in the movie, Peter is still doing the internship for Tony Stark, but there a few things that are different (I will not spoil them now :D). If you enjoy my story, I would absolutely appreciate comment/theories/suggestions/questions, just so I know that I'm writing what my readers want me to. For this fan-fiction, I would recommend 13+ years (M-rated), for there may be some disturbing/violent scenes for younger children. There are also some medical scenes and it can become quite graphic - there is also mild cussing. Please do not ask for any other ships involving Peter, Liz or MJ - I am open to other suggestions though. Now, after this unnecessarily long note, the last thing I want to say is; please enjoy! Any questions, please leave in comments.

\---

love you all

\---

LuvForStydia xx


	2. 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end begins today...

Peter sat on the apartment roof, swinging his legs and munching on his late-night feast; a churro. He surveyed the streets below - they were deserted. Then again, it was nearly midnight and no one ever wandered the streets unless they were doing something dodgy.

Which is why, when he saw a group of about four middle-aged men creeping around the corner of the street hundreds of metres below where Peter sat. With a sigh and a quick roll of his eyes, he pulled his mask over his head. Just as he was about to jumped down, he placed his churro on the edge of the building.

"Stay." He told the churro. 

Then he shot out a web to the other apartment on the other side of the street. He swung on it and connected lightly onto the cement wall of the building. Then he proceeded to creep down the side of the wall, head first. It was dark, the world only lit by the occasional street light, so Peter knew he had the safety of the darkness.

As he got closer, he heard the men whispering (rather loudly for a whisper) and paused to hear what they were saying.

". . . not out at this time!" One of them was saying gruffly. 

"You don't know that! We have to try!" A slightly high-pitched voice exclaimed relatively loudly.

"Keep it down!" The other voice hissed - Peter connected it to a bulky man who stood at least six foot two into the air.

"He has a point, though." A new voice piped up. Peter turned to the rough direction of that voice. The man of whom it belonged to was hard to make out - he was wearing black sweats and a black hoodie, which we had over his head, casting his face into shadow.

"We just need the bait." The same guy said in a matter-of-fact voice. Peter crept slightly closer, still straining his ears to listen.

"This dude could be dangerous! We haven't really met him - I mean, he works for Tony Stark!" The buff man said.

Peter froze at the name and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

"No, once again, we don't know that! Let's stop guessing and work it out for ourselves." The high-pitched man said again.

"He's an Avenger, I bet. You know; everyone is calling him the friendly, neighbourhood hero." 

"All he can do is shoot webs!"

Peter froze in fear; they were talking about him! But instead of that fear driving him away, it made him ever-more interested.

"Spider-Man isn't a threat to us - but Stark is. From what I've seen, whenever that Spider is in trouble, he turns up and saves him. He obviously cares for whoever is under that suit. So, the best way to lure him in is to capture something he'll come to us for." The man in the black hood whispered and Peter could hear the smirk in his voice. Now he was becoming apprehensive.

"So what can lure the Spider in? Some kind of disturbance." Squeaky Guy said. 

Peter's mind went into overdrive and he jumped down to the pavement below. Right in the middle of the huddle of men.

"Meh, no need guys. Right here." He said loudly. There was an immediate reaction, where the Black-Hood Dude, Bulky and another man who hadn't talked leapt towards him. Squeaky Guy squealed in fright - what a funny guy. Peter jumped high into the air, avoiding the attempts to seize him. He landed on the wall and shot a web at the man who hadn't talked who was then flattened against the wall of the apartment opposite him, trapped in the web.

"Get him!" The man who had been trapped in Peter's web cried. Peter sniggered - he understood now why he hadn't spoken. 

Then he jumped from the wall and onto the street behind the three men. He let out a little 'ahem' and they spun around simultaneously to look at him. They raced at him but he somersaulted through the air, right over their heads. When he landed, he shot another web at Bulky, whose arm's were now plastered to the sides of his body. Squeaky Guy faltered and seemed to be looking frantically for something. Then it hit Peter; Black-Hood had completely disappeared! He now cast his eyes over the scene, but couldn't spot the man - not even with his Spidey-Senses. 

Pushing aside the problem, Peter aimed at Squeaky Guy, who froze. Pathetic. 

But before he could shoot, he heard a sickening crunch and he keeled over. Then the pain hit him, resonating and throbbing painfully through his head. He looked up, wincing, to see Black-Hood standing over him with a metal baseball bat raised high above his head. 

"Touche." Peter nodded sarcastically.

And then he shot a web at Black-Hood, but to his great surprise and horror, it just melted away. The web disappeared, like it had never been there.

Peter gaped like a fish, before coming to his senses. Black-Hood was smirking so Peter took advantage of the mans moment of pride.

"Nice trick." He stated.

He didn't get an answer. 

"You know, I've never seen that before. It's pretty sick . . . well, for you, anyway. Not so much for me, I guess." Peter exclaimed, purposely making his voice loud enough for the two remaining men to falter slightly. "I was just wondering, you know, as I was listening to your convo a few minutes ago, why you're so interested in Tony Stark? I mean, sure, he's loaded and all, but he's like, the grumpiest guy ever. And doesn't like hugs - I mean, c'mon, who doesn't like hugs?" 

Black-Hood pulled his eyebrows together in a frown. 

"You don't need to know." He said shortly. 

"Yeah! It's none of your business, Spidey-Guy!" Squeaky butted in. Peter rolled his eyes and shot the small guy down with a web so he was plastered to the floor.

"Sorry, he was annoying me." Peter said simply. "Anyway, so now it's just the two of us, how about we talk this out rationally."

He took the silence as a yes.

"Well, you're doing something heck dodgy, I can sorta tell. You know, if you really wanted to meet Tony Stark that much, I'm pretty sure he would go and have dinner with you or something. Although he does have quite a bit of a busy schedule." Peter added as an after-thought.

And then a blinding light lit the dark night. The man had pulled a small, but lethal weapon from the pocket in his hoodie. Sorta creepy that he kept it there, but oh well. He pointed it at Peter, who backed away with his hands held high in surrender.

"Ok, ok, put the gun down. There's no need for violence, ok? I'm sure we can come to an agreement." Peter eyes the weapon warily - it was one he had never seen before. He presumed it was some kind of alien-tech, by the way it glowed an eerie purple. Black-Hood had it pointed at Peter, who was getting ready to dodge out of the way.

Soon enough, the man shot. Peter dodged it in wonder. What surprised him, was that as the bullet exited the barrel, it made no noise - it was silent. Which also made him frightened because no noise meant no warning. He watched as the bullet cracked into the wall, creating a deep dent in it. Pretty powerful.

But now, Peter was off his guard. As he turned back to the man, he panicked. He watched, as if in slow-motion, the bullet being pushed from the gun. He reached into the air, shooting a web as high as he could. It latched into something - he wasn't entirely sure what, but he didn't care. He sprang off the ground, but a little bit too late.

As he leapt, he felt a white-hot pain cleave through his right thigh. He screamed in agony and dropped to the ground. He clutched his thigh, watching the deep red blood seep through his suit, staining it a darker colour. He looked up at Black-Hood, who was snickering.

"So weak." He murmured, smirking down on Peter. (A/N: Did anyone else think of Snape from HP when you read that, or is that just me . . .?)

Peter squinted through his mask. He couldn't tell what this guy was thinking, but he knew that he himself was in trouble. 

"What do you want?" Peter asked roughly as he forced himself to his feet, one hand still held tightly over his wound. 

"I want Stark. I will get to him through you. You will suffer in his absence."

Peter's heart lurched. He limped towards the man, trying to see his eyes. 

"But why?" He asked.

"That's not something you need to know." He answered slyly.

And then Peter was hit again by the bat, this time on the back of his head. His vision turned to white momentarily before the delayed pain came. He fell forward onto his knees, yelling in fear and agony. Although he knew he would heal, Peter was still worried.

"Oh, c'mon, man." He groaned. "It's a school night! I gotta get home."

"You really think I care if it's a school night? Shut up!" Black-Hood yelled, exasperated. "And anyway, that's a stupid excuse. You're too old for school anyway." Peter raised his eyebrows at that - if only he knew.

"My aunt, she'll be worried sick-!" Peter began again.

"I don't care, ok? Zip it, or I'll hit you again." Black-Hood threatened.

"But . . . what about my churro . . .?" Peter asked, wildly grabbing at excuses.

Black-Hood brought the bat down upon Peter's shoulder, and he heard a sickening crack. He screamed in pain once again, as agony spread from his shoulder like a wild-fire. Merciless and fast. He gripped it, rolling on the ground.

"Jeez!" Peter gasped, screwing up his eyes in agony. 

"Shut up now, or I'll kill you." Peter fell silent.

His wounded leg felt numb with pain - Peter could tell that it was trying to heal itself. But it couldn't while the bullet was still in there. His shoulder felt dislocated and a lump was rising on the back of his head. 

Karen! What do I do, Karen? He thought wildly.

You have a shallow flesh-wound on your right thigh. The bullet hit an artery, so you may be in danger of severe blood-loss, came the matter-of-fact reply.

"Crap." Peter said aloud.

Then he felt something cold and sharp digging into his neck, causing him to writhe in pain. A liquid was being pushed through his veins, burning-hot liquid. He squirmed uncomfortably, as he felt his body go numb. It was somewhat a relief, but it scared him more than anything.

With one final spurt of drugs, Peter's world began to swim before his very eyes. It tipped and swirled and all he could do was watch in despair as it faded into nothing.

He passed out.


	3. 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and the Peter Parker Whump tag comes into use :)

Peter woke in a haze of pain and fear. 

His heart raced as he spun his head around. His vision was delayed slightly and the world around him was blurred and a mix of dark greys and browns. He blinked a few times, hoping it could clear his sight. It didn't.

He decided to focus on the cement-grey wall opposite him. He seemed to be in some kind of warehouse; the roof stood many metres above him and the steel structures loomed in the shadows of the dark room. It was a relatively small room, though due to the echoing in Peter's already ringing ears, he knew that the whole warehouse was much, much bigger.

He could also hear footsteps slapping against the floor somewhere nearby, but he couldn't find the strength or the courage to turn and see who it was. He pulled his arms, but didn't get very far; they were shackled by heavy chains, along with his ankles, to a one of the interior walls. He tugged at them, panicked, but they didn't budge. Though, the effort of attempting to pull his wrists free sent a slice of pain up his spine, that resonated in his head. He winced.

"There's no point. Those are uranium chains; unbreakable." Came a clear voice through all the fog in Peter's brain. Finally, a hazy man stepped into Peter's sight, making his heart race.

"Wh-?" Peter began, but his throat seemed to light on fire - it was completely dry.

He heard the man snicker. His voice was cold and distant and had a certain level of maleficence to it - no regret or pity. Peter began to blink again and slowly his vision became a little less blurred and confusing.

The man that stood over him was middle-aged, but years of stress and fights had caused his complexion to wrinkle slightly and his hair begin to grey. And yet he stood six feet into the air.

"You know, ever since that rescue at the Washington Monument, I suspected you." The man continued.

Peter felt his breath latch in his throat and his heart beat - if possible - even faster.

"Liz told me all about you - she sounded pretty upset. Said you didn't turn up for that - what does she do? - decathlon thing, and then, all over the news, a heroic avenger, saving the day once again." He hissed and his cold, brown eyes seemed to darken. Peter felt his thigh throbbing and blood continued to spill from the bullet-wound. As he looked down at the nearly black blood, a dizzy spell hit him and his sight blacked out for a moment. 

"I . . . I don't know what you're talking about." Peter whispered hoarsely. How could he of found out about his identity?

"Oh, I think you do. You know, to prove it, I might just take off that mask of yours." He smirked evilly as he reached his hand out towards Peter's head.

More people, mostly men, had gathered in the room, watching and waiting eagerly. Peter leant into the wall, terrified - if they knew who he was, he would be hunted for the rest of his life. He tried to shoot a web, but nothing worked. Wow, what a time to run out.

"No! Please, don't!" Peter cried, jerking away from the outstretched arm. "Please, I'll do anything, just l-let me go! Sir, please!" He hated this - grovelling at this villains feet, but if anyone ever found out, Tony's whole plan and all the other Avenger's may be at risk.

"Adrian. Call me Adrian - sir makes me feel old." Adrian snarled, before he grabbed the back of Peter's head and pushed it so his chin was in the air, leaving his neck exposed.

"No! No!" Peter whimpered, too weak to resist. The drug they had injected must have been very strong, his whole body seemed to be tingling.

But it was too late - he felt the mask slide off of his face and he took a deep breath of fresh air though still terrified. He heard a fascinated mutter break out around the group of watchers and a few snickers. A low, rumbling growl came from the back of Adrian's throat, which Peter knew to be his version of a laugh.

"What did I tell you?" The man called out to the bystanders. "Did I not say, that this mere boy had been corrupting and ruining our plans?" He sounded almost angry. "And to think my daughter fancied you."

Peter struggled against the cuffs, fear setting in the pit of his stomach. 

He saw the man who had injected him with the drugs step forward, still with his black hoodie on, but this time with the hood down. He looked rough and beaten, with scars on the right side of his face. He had a buzz-cut and stubble growing on his chin and looked un-kept and unhygienic. But the fury in his black eyes made Peter cower.

"This," Adrian waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the man, "is Damien. He has a seven-year-old daughter who lives with his sick and dying wife. He got ditched by Stark a few years ago and lost all his money. He works for me, because I can provide him with enough cash to keep up the treatment for his wife. His family still exists, because of me." Adrian whispered angrily and Peter felt a pang of guilt, though his loyalty towards the Avengers never wavered.

"One of the guys Black Widow attacked a few days ago? His dad just died of cancer and his son has autism, and doesn't get an education. Once again, that man is able to buy food for his remaining family, because of me." Adrian hissed. Peter shivered.

"Me? All I want is for my family to be happy. Those 'heroes' up there in the city; they don't care about us! I want my wife to be healthy and happy and I want my daughter to be safe." 

"So-so you thought selling weapons to criminals was a w-way to solve that?" Peter stammered incredulously.

There was a rush of movement and a few scuffled shouts and then a slash of pain cut through Peter's head. He felt blood drip into his eyes and he screwed them shut.

"You dare!" He heard Adrian shouting. He winced as he bent his neck down to his chest so he could feel the deep cut on his forehead, with his chained hands. He knew it could heal, but head wounds always worried him.

And then there was a strong hand clamping around his throat, lifting his head up. Peter's eyes flung open to see Adrian's cold eyes glaring at him, his face inches from his own. Peter scraped at the hands that squeezed his wind pipe, wheezing. He tried to breathe in but no air went to his lungs. His limbs began shaking uncontrollably as the world began to tip and swirl. His brain was taking air from other parts of his body, leaving them convulsing and 'dying' in a way.

"Pl . . . sto-!" Peter wheezed thickly, seeing yellow and black spots begin to cloud his vision.

"Boss!" Came a sudden yell. The hand released Peter's neck and Peter fell limp in his binds. He could feel bruises forming around his throat, but that came with the relief of fresh air filling his burning lungs.

"Fine." Adrian spat at Peter's feet, that had ceased shaking.

"We agreed on keeping him as alive as possible." Came the same voice that had saved Peter's life. Peter slowly lifted his weak head to see a slightly familiar face. Peter remembered confronting him a few weeks ago in a car-park. He had told Peter the whereabouts of Adrian at the time. Of course, the whole Ferry incident hadn't ended well, but Pete still felt a small and still sort of deflated bubble of hope begin to grow. 

The man looked away uncomfortably.

Then Damien was bending down in front of Peter and that hope faded quickly at the sight of the merciless black eyes. He gulped and Damien sneered. 

"We have some business to attend to - in the meantime, don't try anything stupid." His voice was raspy and dry. He stood straight again and Adrian nodded in satisfaction. The many people who worked for the villain filed out of the room, through a large, metal door. After a minute or so, Adrian got to the doors, having waited 'ever-so-kindly' for everyone to leave first.

"I'm sorry about all this." He said, turning around to look at Peter, who was still limp and sore. Peter didn't answer - Peter couldn't answer.

"This is only gonna hurt a little." Adrian whispered.

And then Peter was on fire.


	4. 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark finds out that his 'son' is in trouble.

The sun rose over the shimmering buildings. Helicopters flew over the city for the morning shows, the sparkling rays of sun reflecting off of the glass windows, car horns sounded and the smell of petrol and damp soil filled the brisk air. After years of living in New York, the morning sun never ceased to amaze Tony Stark.

But today, wasn't like every other day.

He sat by a wall of windows on one of the many business couches. His head was buried in his hands, as he thought non-stop about the current problem. With a sigh, he lifted his head and looked sullenly out the windows. Everything seemed to be working the same - everyone was so oblivious. Tony blanched suddenly - why did he care?

But Peter had been missing for . . . 27 hours now. Wait - he was counting? Tony shook his head, trying to clear up his thoughts.

"Tony?" He heard Natasha call from across the lounge. He spun around and saw she stood at the door, a concerned expression on her face. "You can't stay by yourself forever, you know?"

Tony nodded and casted his gaze down to his feet, confused. Natasha walked across the room, the soft 'clop clop' of her heals against the floor becoming the only noise. She sat down opposite him on an uncomfortable armchair. 

"What the heck's been up with you lately?" She asked.

"Uh, nothing, really. Just - you know - thinking about things. Figuring things out." He murmured.

"Ok, that's not at all convincing." Natasha said, sounding dreadfully bored.

"Um . . . ok, Peter's been missing for a day. No one knows his whereabouts." Tony confessed.

"Peter? Who's Peter?" Natasha asked vaguely.

Tony glared at her and rolled his eyes. "Peter Parker . . .? You know, Spider-Man?"

"Oh." Natasha said, still looking slightly confused. "The-the guy who dresses up in those red tights cause of some radioactive spider?" 

"Yes." Tony said, annoyed. "That guy - and I made that suit." He added, slightly offended.

Natasha smirked but Tony didn't join in.

"It's ok. He'll turn up - remember when Bruce disappeared for two years and then just showed up out of nowhere?" Natasha reminded him and Tony nodded.

"It's different, though." Tony whispered, punching his fist into his palm. "Bruce is an adult, he can do what he wants and he knows how to keep himself safe. But, Peter? He's just a kid. I mean, what is he? Fourteen? Fifteen?" Tony rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"Hey, we'll find him." Natasha comforted him.

"Yeah . . . it's just the state in which we find him is what I'm worried about."

\---

Peter was doused in sweat and shaking. His suit was burnt through around his wrists and his skin was scabbed and burnt raw. Every twenty minutes, a pulse of electricity ran through the vibranium, causing his body to jerk and convulse, as he got electrocuted. 

He had lost track of how long the pulses had been coursing through him, but he estimated about three hours. He was terrified. These people - they were dangerous and Peter was the only one who knew about them. If only he could put his mask back on, he called call Tony. 

But his mask lay a few metres in front of where he - now - lay, well out of his reach. With a tired groan, Peter aimlessly stretched out his arm, reaching with all the strength he had left, but the item was impossible to get to. He collapsed again, his cheek pressed against the cool of the cement floor. He took a few steadying breaths, but he felt tears come to his eyes.

Aunt May - if he died here, she would have no one. It was his fault Uncle Ben was dead, maybe he deserved it. Oh, how worried she must be right now. And Ned! Ned was always so proud of him, what would he think when he finds out a mere gang of criminals brought the; 'mighty Spider-Man' down? Peter sniffed hastily.

He was crying - why was he crying? Heroes don't cry. But then again - Peter wasn't a hero. Peter was a young and naive boy who thought he could take on the world. He learnt the truth too late.

Faintly, as if from down a tunnel, Peter heard a door scrape open. He ignored it, the pain overwhelming him and causing his vision to darken. Footsteps neared and Peter semi=braced himself for more beatings but none came. He heard a sharp intake of breath, like someone who doesn't really know what to say.

"I didn't realise you were so young." Came a confused voice.

Peter pulled his head up, wincing with the effort. He blinked a few times, attempting to gain more focus, but it did little.

"Um . . . when you 'interrogated' me," He heard a man say in a clear American accent, putting a lot of pressure on the word interrogated. "You sounded hell young, but I didn't realise you were still in school." He continued awkwardly.

Peter dropped his head to the floor again, too weak to hold it up. Was this even real? He couldn't tell anymore.

"I, uh, I'm sorry. For what he's doing. I think it might be a bit much, I've never seen him this angry before." Peter presumed that the man was referring to Adrian. Peter nodded his head in acknowledgement, though the movement was so small he wandered if the guy had even seen it.

"So, I think I might do something about it." 

At this comment, Peter flung his body up in surprise. It hurt a lot and he regretted it deeply, but the surprise and hope hit him forcefully. He fell back against the wall he was chained to.

"Jeez, calm down." Peter slowly began to recognise the irritated voice and realised it was the same man who had told Toomes not to kill him - the same guy from the parking lot. "Just reminding ya that I can't do anything directly to Toomes, but I can help you, if you want."

Peter nodded frantically, which he - again - regretted. "P-plea-se." He added unnecessarily. Aaron Davis laughed, squinting at the boy.

"That's a nasty bullet wound - is it lethal?" Davis asked. Peter shrugged, struggling to say something through his burning throat.

"M . . ." He began and then coughed. Blood appeared on his lips. "Mask . . .!" He spluttered.

Davis bit his lip, casting his eyes to where the mask lay. "Why?"

Peter glared at him, hoping he would just give in. He didn't. "Please!" Pete rasped.

"I-I don't think I should do that. I'm not sure what you can do when you have it on, but I can't let you go and I can't allow you to get the Avengers." He murmured. Peter sighed heavily, slumping.

"Please though, let me look at the bullet wound."

Peter clenched his jaw as Davis got closer, watching him wearily. He felt him press around the wound, inspecting it closely.

"That doesn't look so good - you've lost tonnes of blood. Does it hurt?" Aaron asked worriedly.

Peter shook his head. It actually didn't hurt - and although he welcomed the numbness that was spreading through his body, he knew it couldn't be a good thing.

"Karen . . . please." Peter whispered, trying to point at his mask. As soon as he said it, he knew he sounded stupid.

"Karen? My name's not Karen." Davis said, slightly amused and offended at the same time.

"No . . . mask - please!" Peter pleaded desperately, pointing uselessly again.

Sighing and muttering to himself, Davis handed Peter his mask reluctantly. Peter snatched it out of Aaron's hands and shoved it over his head as best he could. His first priority was Karen, then the Avengers. He felt sorry for Davis - he hoped he didn't get caught up in it all.

"K-Karen, vitals-!" Peter stuttered.

It seems you have multiple head injuries and have lost a lot of blood. Your bullet wound should be attended to, otherwise you may receive a life threatening infection. You need medical attention immediately, Karen listed calmly.

"Why-why aren't I h-healing?" Peter heaved again and blood splattered onto the cement.

The shocks of electricity has weakened your immune system and advanced healing factor, Karen informed him sadly.

"P-please call Tony St-Stark." Peter whispered, his throat swelling.

"No! No, you can't! Please!" He heard Davis yelling, but he ignored him.

Dialling Tony Stark.

"Peter? What the hell, kid, where've you been?!" Was the first thing that was fired down through the intercom.

"Please help . . . I-I got into a little trouble." Peter mumbled and then wheezed slightly.

"What? Where are you? Peter!" Tony yelled when Peter didn't answer. Truth was, he didn't really know where he was. He swore under his breath when he remembered taking out the tracker.

"I-I don't know!" Peter stammered, tears filling up in his eyes. He saw Davis running out the room, probably to go get Toomes. 

"Are you hurt? Peter, talk to me!" Tony shouted down the line. Peter winced at the volume.

"A little . . ."

"How much is a little?!" Tony's voice was getting louder and louder.

Suddenly, the lights turned off and Peter was plunged into darkness. A cold darkness.

And all Tony heard was a blood-curdling scream, a crackle, then the line beeped out.


	5. 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter, with some May/Tony for ya!  
> (this is so weird, because I wrote this last year, and my writing has improved so much since then. i am actually cringing so bad reading this stuff lol.)

The dark night was growing, becoming more dense and becoming more deep. May sat by the apartment window by the lounge room, her arms wrapped around her knees. Ever since Ben, Peter was all she had - so where was he now?

He had been missing for nearly about one and a half days, nearly two. She'd rung Ned's mother, Ned himself, five different police station, Liz's parents and even Tony Stark himself. None of them knew where he was - or at least none of them wanted to say.

And yet the world outside kept turning - cars kept driving, people kept working, just like it had always been. Why wasn't everyone stopped and searching for her boy? The only one left? The police had sent out search parties for him a few hours ago but none had been able to locate him. What scared her more was that everything he owned was still in his bedroom, like he was hiding in his cupboard. Knowing Peter though, that didn't seem so strange. She'd checked.

A soft buzz from her phone brought May Parker from her trance. She looked over at the kitchen table, to see her phone light up. Her heart thumped as she got to her feet and walked over. She reached out to her phone with a shaky hand. Her eyes widened as she read the text and her breath caught in her throat.

The first message read:

**May - I'm sorry, I know you're worried. Please don't panic. I'm in a little bit of trouble - just call Tony Stark, he'll explain. I'm really sorry. Peter.**

But the second was what chilled poor May to the core. 

**May - disregard last message! DO NOT call/text Stark - stay inside and don't go anywhere. Don't call police I'm fine. hilusfvq May please stay safe!! I'm a oijp;g little bit hurt but I'll be ok. Tony can't kno**

May froze. Something bad was happening. He's hurt badly, she can tell. And the random letters - he was in serious possibly even life-threatening trouble. What was he going to say? She has to tell Tony! Why can't she leave? Is someone after her? Peter. Does she have Stark's number? Should she text Peter back? He was cut short - what happened? Was he OK?

Those were just some of the thoughts that ran through her mind.

So she picked up the phone and dialled Tony Stark.

\---

Peter's body continued to convulse and jerk at random, even after the shot of electricity. The lights were back and Toomes was in front of him again. He still had his mask on, Adrian completely unaware of the suits full abilities. 

"We want Stark, not you." Adrian was saying, but Peter was too disorientated to fully understand what he was saying. "You know, if you just got him to come and 'rescue you' we will never have to bother you again! It's quite simple."

Yeah, but it wasn't. Peter knew he could never let Tony be put through the same pain and torture. He was just gonna have to endure it, until . . . until something changed.

"You'll die soon." Came Toomes' voice from somewhere to his left. Peter shivered unwillingly. "Without any help with that bullet wound of yours, it'll get infected - in fact, it probably already is. Even with your amazing healing skills, something as nasty as an infection and blood loss could cause a lot of damage." He could tell Adrian was smirking, though he couldn't see to confirm what he thought. 

His eyes were wide open, but his sight was pitch black. He was going blind. He was blind. In his head, Peter prayed this was all just a bad dream, cause that was what it felt like. Everything he had been afraid of was coming to pass.

1\. He was the only one standing between the enemy and his friends.

2\. He was probably going to die protecting them.

3\. His crush's dad was some sort of super-villain.

4\. They knew his identity.

5\. May could be hurt/tracked/killed because of him.

6\. He was going to die blind.

7\. They knew his identity.

8\. Oh, and they knew his identity.

So yeah, Peter was terrified. Never had he been in this much pain and trouble in his whole life. And if that wasn't enough, no one seemed to realise that Peter was even missing. He had sent May a few messages while the lights were out - he had been able to hide his phone, though it was severely cracked and only had seven percent battery left. Ever since his intercom with Tony, the billionaire hadn't tried to contact him again. Did he not care?

"No," Peter whispered throatily.

He heard a scoff. "No? You don't think you'll die?"

Peter shook his head, gulping. He needed water - he hadn't had any for close to two days. He should already be dead, but thanks to his enhanced healing he was holding on.

"Trust me, I can help you think otherwise," Toomes whispered, so close to Peter's left ear that he felt the man's foul breath hot against his bruised cheek. "Damien, would you do the honours?"

He heard a snigger and then the soft sound of metal against flesh. Peter could imagine the merciless guy walking forward gleefully, smacking the metal bat lightly against his open palm.

Peter braced himself as best he could as he hung in the cuffs. 

"Hm, no, little higher." He heard Toomes muttering.

Peter felt a rush of air before the bat cracked against his chest.

It was the worst pain he had ever experienced.

The waves of agony shot up his neck and down his spine. A ripped scream rose in his dry throat, but the one that exited was wimp and feeble. He couldn't breathe - at least not properly. He was winded and all he could do was open and close his mouth, panicked. If it were even possible, his vision darkened a few more degrees. He knew something had been broken, but his mind felt so stuffed with cotton that he couldn't tell what had broken. He realised he had been biting down on his tongue so hard he had drawn blood, but he didn't feel the pain. His tongue was swollen and completely numb. 

"K'r-n . . .!" He wheezed, so quietly no one heard it. Not even Peter heard it. Still, his trusty suit remained ever-loyal.

 _You have developed a crushed sternum, Peter. You must get immediate medical attention. You are in imminent, life-threatening danger. You have lost too much blood and your lungs have too much pressure on them for you to be able to breathe much longer_ , Karen stated from inside his suit. Peter's heart thumped painfully - but at least it could still beat.

 _Karen_ , he thought _, please send a message to May._

\---

Tony leapt towards his phone when he saw who was ringing.

"Miss Parker?" He asked tentatively.

"Tony Stark, is this Tony Stark?" Came the terrified reply. Tony drew a sharp breath of worry before he answered.

"Yeah - is everything OK? Where's Peter?" Tony asked, wanting to get straight to the point.

"No! No, I don't know! He just texted me, he said-!" She paused, taking a deep breath. "He's in trouble, Stark. He won't tell me where he is - he won't answer my texts! He's hurt and I don't know if he's still even - even a-alive! Where is he?"

"I-I don't know." Tony muttered, his heart jumping in fear.

"What do you mean, you don't know? He's your intern, you should know!" She was practically screaming.

Tony took a deep, steadying breath. "Tell me, what exactly do the messages say?" He asked.

"Wait - he told me not to tell you, but I don't have any other choice. He's all I have." May's voice broke, and Tony was surprised to find his own breath rather shaky.

That was a quick 'blip blip' as May forwarded the messages onto Tony and Tony read them, the fear in his mind growing stronger and stronger. But along with the fear, there was also a realisation.

"I-I think I know where he is!" Tony exclaimed hurriedly, but the line on the other end was completely silent. Tony froze, straining his ears for the smallest noise. None.

"May?" He asked worriedly.

"He . . ." She began, and Tony could tell she was crying. 

"He what? Miss Parker?" Tony prompted, feeling light-headed.

"He just sent me another message . . ." She sounded shocked but the fear - the agonising, painful fear was still evident in every syllable.

" . . . what? What does it say?" Tony asked, dreading the answer.

"He said . . . he said 'I love you'." 

Tony dropped the phone. Not many things made the billionaire freeze - he wasn't afraid of a lot. But right now, was probably the most terrifying moment of his life. But he knew what he needed to do. He called for Rhodey and his suit immediately.

They didn't have much time, and by the sounds of it, neither did Peter.


	6. 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Rhodey to the rescue...or not?

As Tony and Rhodey fought their way through the large, solid-iron doorway, Davis snapped his tired head to attention. He was sitting in front of the door that lead into where Peter lay, dying. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy, though Pete had made a mistake by calling for Stark.

And now Stark was here. Davis jumped to his feet, frantically feeling his belt for his voice transmitter. 

"Toomes! Stark is here!" He yelled through the walkie-talkie. There was a crackle and a few inaudible words came through. Aaron sighed, and cast the device to the floor.

"Ready, push!" Tony yelled, and he and Rhodey shoved the door as hard as possible. The creaked loudly, then fell open. Tony flew in and Rhodey followed, somewhat less gracefully. The billionaire looked around for a moment, before speaking to his suit.

"FRIDAY? Search for hot-spots." He was too scared and determined for his mouth to obey what his mind was telling him. Instead, he used words like; hot-spot and search - he wasn't being professional! But that didn't matter - Peter was in danger.

 _Detecting,_  FRIDAY said. Then, a few seconds later;  _Detected a mass upstairs and one a hundred metres to your right._

Tony nodded and turned to Rhodey.

"OK, so it seems The Vulture is upstairs with the rest of his crew. One just near here - it could be Peter." He informed him, and Rhodey nodded in understanding.

Tony turned of his boosters, and landed swiftly on the floor. He walked as quietly as possible down the narrow corridor to his right. It was long and dark, but - in a strange way - Tony anticipated what he would find at the end. Rhodey followed closely behind.

What he found wasn't what he had been expecting.

"Stand down!" Came a scared yell, with a thick American accent. Iron Man turned the corner to find a young-ish man in his early twenties waiting for him. He stood in front of a much smaller door, that had no security. Stark paused, confused. FRIDAY had detected one person - and it wasn't Peter.

"Who are  _you?"_  Tony asked rudely, after a moment of silence.

When there was no reply, Tony continued to push.

"Where's Pete . . . um, Spider-Man?" 

"Don't know." The man gulped.

"You're lying! Tell me where he is, now!" Stark yelled, gaining more control.

He waited a second, barely giving Davis enough time answer. Then he sped forward, slamming the American against the far cement wall, metal gauntlet clutched around his neck. Not enough to suffocate him, but enough to scare him.

"I-I . . . he's in there! Please!" The guy whimpered, pointing shakily toward the now unguarded door. Tony smiled; it was always too easy.

He dropped the man, who crumpled to the floor, shaking. 

"Rhodey - could you watch him? Make sure he doesn't do anything rash." Rhodey nodded in agreement. 

Then Stark stepped out of his Iron Man suit, knowing confronting Peter in all his armour might startle the fifteen-year-old. He raced to the door and twisted the knob, dreading what he might find when he finally pushed the door open. Normally, he wouldn't have been this rushed, but Peter was probably dying and that was something worth rushing for.

He coughed at the dense, dust-filled air, as he opened the door. Slowly, the dust settled, and Tony saw Peter.

He was limp and unmoving, chained to the wall cruelly. He was still in his full suit, which relieved Tony a bit - maybe they didn't know who he was. But there was a deep red against the already red suit, around his upper leg. There was scabbed and unhealthy burns around his wrists and ankles, where the cuffs rubbed and the suit burnt, and his face was covered in blood - some from a deep wound on his forehead.

Crap. 

He stumbled towards where Peter hung, lips gaping like a fish. Never had Tony lost control like this - so scared and frightened for such an insignificant . . . but he wasn't. Peter was like . . . like a son to Stark, so to see him like this . . . Tony couldn't think.

"Peter! Kid, please!" Tony whispered hoarsely. Peter didn't move.

"FRIDAY, give me his vitals!" He yelled at his suit.

 _There is no pulse detected. Sorry, sir,_ FRIDAY said.

Tony froze - that must be why he wasn't detected. Worried, Tony tugged at the vibranium cuffs desperately, but they were too strong, even for the Iron Man. Before he could speak, FRIDAY read his mind;

_The keys are upstairs, kept inside Adrian Toomes' fur-coat jacket._

Tony's heart lurched in another wave of fear when he heard the name. Toomes! But then he couldn't help but smirk; still had his fur-coat jacket. 

"Rhodey!" He shouted from where he knelt next to Peter. 

There was a faint 'yeah?' in reply.

"The keys for these cuffs - the guys upstairs have them! Would you mind-?" He began.

"On it!" Rhodey yelled, before Tony could finish his sentence. Stark smiled.

But that smile was quick to fall of his face when he turned his attention back to the boy.

"Peter . . .?" He asked, touching the side of his face. It was ice-cold. He leaned towards Peter and listened for breaths, but there were none. Tony knew what he had to do.

He placed a slightly shaking hand on Pete's lifeless chest and screwed his eyes shut. Then he sent a shock through the boy's body. Nothing changed, except for the convulsing of Peter's body. So he did it again. And again. The panic was growing. 

Tony collapsed to the floor, his hands over his face and his shoulders shaking in silent sobs. This was his fault. This mere boy was dead, because of him. If he hadn't been so intent on beating Cap at his own game, Peter wouldn't even be in this situation. 

With one last push of strength and hope, Tony stretched out his arm. He sent electricity into Peter again, and this time Peter screamed.

Tony jumped to his feet. Peter was awake - the pain etched in his face. In every other circumstance, the look of pure agony would worry Stark, but this time it made him so relieved he might've actually hugged the boy - if he didn't have electricity pulsing through his body. 

"Peter! Peter, can you hear me?" He yelled frantically, as the shock died down. "Kid, look at me!"

Peter was breathing again and his pulse came back, beating maybe a little too fast. Peter wasn't sure how much time had passed or when he started to become aware of what was around him. He began to faintly hear sounds around him but they felt too far away for him to grasp on to. He just had to concentrate and maybe they would become clearer. But concentrating was hard right now, let alone think. It was hard to even hold onto thoughts, they disappeared as fast as they came. He would be frustrated if he wasn't so confused and exhausted. At least that how he thought that he felt. He wasn't even sure right now.

 His eyes were wide, but he wasn't seeing. Just like it had been before, his vision was still completely colourless - completely nothing. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he had his eyes open, only he could feel them watering. He heard quick breaths coming from somewhere to his left and the faint sound of clashing metal, screams and bangs. His heart began to race.

" . . . eter? Kid . . . hurt?" Someone was asking. It was a low voice, but Peter couldn't figure out who it belonged to. His arms hurt. His head hurt - all of him just hurt. Ached.

"Look . . . me!" The same voice shouted and Peter winced. He couldn't string the words together to make a sentence that actually made sense, but the few words he understood seemed to make sense. Still, he couldn't see or sense where exactly where this person was.

Then there was an irritating whirring noise and a few low mumbles. The sound of metal filled Peter's head - metal scraping along the cement, metal keys jangling. The screeching noise made him retch. He heard a disgusted 'humph!'.

Keys . . . keys. Whoever these people were, they were going to lock him in. Then no one could find him and he would die. He thought suddenly of May - was she OK? He felt a pang of guilt for causing her so much grief and pain. And then there were warm, calloused hands on his forehead, pulling his hair back gently - and another pair of hands were fiddling with his cuffs.

The cuffs opened and Pete's arms fell to his sides. Fire shot up his spine from the sudden movement, causing him to shake madly. 

"Hey hey hey! Kid, calm down, you're OK!" The man whispered and put his arms around Peter's shoulders, pushing him gently to the floor so he was lying down in a comfortable position. It relieved his back pain, though his head still span.

"Pete, open your eyes . . . please." 

They were open! Or not. He didn't know - everything looked the same anyway. But the arms that held him were warm and comforting and Peter fell into them. Whoever the guy was, he was a friend and that comforted Peter.

Tony stared at the broken figure in front of him. Pete's eyes were open, but he seemed as if he was looking at nothing in particular. That worried him - was the kid blind? Rhodey was back outside the door, making sure none of the people he had attacked while getting the keys were coming back down. 

Peter was still cold, but pride burnt in Tony's heart. This teen was so strong, even Tony wasn't sure if he could've survived what Peter had just gone through. He hadn't had a heartbeat for over forty-five minutes and was somehow able to come back from that somehow. Maybe the boy was more powerful than he first estimated.

"Hey, Peter, just hang in there." He whispered when he noticed Peter's breaths were becoming shorter and quieter and the boy's eyelids were fluttering. "Your aunt rang by the way - she's OK. You know, she really loves you. Told me about the texts; she's the reason we got here on time."

The boys muscles relaxed and Tony breathed a sigh of relief.

"You know, there was this time many years ago - I was being chased by these drones cause of some Hammer guy; small, wimp of a guy. Anyway, I saw one of the army drones standing, ready to fire, in front of this small boy. Couldn't of been older than eight. He had an Iron Man mask on - way to big for his head but I appreciated it all the same."

Peter was silent, but he was listening intently; well, as hard as he could. The world was slipping.

"I blasted the drone. You know, at that moment, I realised something." Tony laughed softly. "I realised that, yeah, I could save the world from the bad guys. I could take down a terrorist, I could save a whole city from a bombing - I could even save the president! With help, of course." Tony added and he saw Peter's fingers twitching. "But when I saved the boy - the defenceless boy who had no one else there to save him, I knew that I had to look out for the 'little guy'. Something I'm p-proud of you about. You never had trouble with that." Tony looked down at Peter and noticed blood on his lips. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The boy wasn't moving. Tony grabbed his shoulders and shook them a bit. No response.

Tony felt his breath contract in his chest.

"Peter?!"


	7. 06

The next time Peter woke, there was no pain.

He was still lying down, but the soft, warm bed he was lying on was quite a contrast to the cement floor. He could feel a blanket over his body, holding him down. It was a very bright, achy white colour. Everything seemed to be white, or a very light shade of blue.

Although everything he looked at was blurry, he was still surprised to find that he could see at all. But the glare of the white and blue shone brutally in his eyes - as he expected it would. For hours all he saw was black and darkness, so it was obvious that any other colour would be too much. Almost as soon as he let his eyes flutter open a tad, he shut them tight again.

There was no noise - whether that was because he couldn't hear or no one was around, he wasn't sure. He lay still, not able to move. It was almost like he was paralysed, but logically Peter knew it was just his enhanced senses protecting himself from further harm. He could only move his fingers, which he used to grip and un-grip the bed-sheets. It was the only control he had over his current situation.

And then there was someone by his side. An older man also wearing white, that contrasted against his black skin (this is a description, not a racist comment!!) was standing over him, peering cautiously down on Peter. 

The man's mouth was moving but Peter couldn't hear what he was trying to say. Although, Peter could only see a small, fuzzy amount of the man through his squinted eyes, he felt his heart freeze. He . . . he recognised this man! He tried to scramble away, scared, but his body refused.

The man was yelling 'hey!' in an urgent way; Peter could tell by the shape his mouth made. That only scared him more.

And then something changed. The lights went out and the white turned into a dark grey. Nothing was glowing and shining into his eyes, which now - with their new-found freedom - flung fully open.

With more sight, he realised the middle-aged guy that stood over him wasn't who he had thought it was. It wasn't Davis. This man, he had a kindly, almost round face, though Peter couldn't make out his exact features. He had a badge on his white uniform with blurred words written in black upon it.

" . . . ey! You're OK, you hear me? You're safe." The doctor was saying calmly.

The noise hit Peter like a shock wave, the quiet words splitting through his head, causing his ears to ring and head hurt. After a few moments of shock, the sounds of the constant, high-pitched beeping and mumbles of people somewhere behind a closed door died down.

Where was he? He seemed to be in some kind of hospital room, but why? He continued to grip the sheets uncomfortably.

"It's alright, kid. I just have a few things I have to ask, starting with . . ." The doctor's voice faded away in Peter's head, when he saw the door in the far left corner open.

His jaw slid open, only a little bit. Tony Stark walked in, smiling sadly at Peter's broken frame. Peter watched with his eyes wide as Tony walked up to the hospital bed. The billionaire almost seemed angst, as he tapped the doc on the shoulder.

" . . . you're here?" The doctor was just finishing his sentence in his deep African accent. Peter pulled his eyebrows together; he had completely tuned out and didn't know what to say.

Upon realising that Tony Stark stood in his presence, the man stood up, mumbling shocked words of praise and apologies.

"Thanks, doc. Could you give me a moment with the kid?" Stark asked in his typical gunslinger way. The doctor cast his eyes to the floor.

"A-are you sure that's wi-wise?" 

"Yeah, go." Tony demanded, smiling irritably. The doctor nodded and scurried from the room, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him. Peter winced.

But now he was alone with Tony. He was so confused and had a million questions.

"W . . .?" Pete began. Then he was choking.

Only now that he tried to talk did he realise there was something in his mouth. Like a plastic tube. He could feel it going down his throat and he coughed and spluttered trying to get it out. He was surprised he never felt it before because now it was all that he could feel. 

He tried to reach up to his mouth but his arms wouldn't move. He couldn't help himself; he was going to die and he couldn't do anything about it.

And then he felt Tony's hand in his own, squeezing it tightly. He took a deep breath, trying to push the thought of having some medical tube shoved into his body through his throat. He nearly shivered just thinking about it.

"Hey, hey, you OK?" Tony was asking repeatedly. Peter nodded, or at least tried to. Tony noticed the boys hands clenching and held them both even tighter.

"You need that." Tony warned the teen. "You can't breathe on your own and it helps."

Peter's heart lurched. He can't breathe?! He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know it was that serious.

So, all Peter could do was lay down in the bed, completely still, listening to Tony.

"Do you, uh, remember . . . you know, what happened?" Tony asked. Peter felt his heart drop, knowing the answer he had to give Tony would only make matters worse. Slowly, he managed to shake his head.

Tony sighed, and rubbed his hand wearily over his face.

"Doc would hate me to do this, but I gotta jog your memory."

Peter froze at that comment. Knowing Tony Stark, the regret in his voice was a bit worrying. Stark never cares, so why would he regret? But Peter was desperate to remember, so all he did was swallow and grit his teeth.

"So, um, you got kidnapped." Tony began, and – if he could – Pete would've laughed. He stared at Tony with an intensified, sarcastic look in his eyes, which he then rolled.

"Huh, glad to see they didn't knock your sense of humour outta ya." Tony remarked in a mocking, offended way.

But those few 'they didn't knock' had triggered something deep in the archive of Peter's brain.

He remembered a bat and a searing pain in his head. He remembered a man in a black hood and a looming, dark, abandoned warehouse.

He could sense his body beginning to shake.

A middle-aged man flashed before his eyes. Adrian Toomes. The villain was standing over him, with an angry expression. And then a fist was connecting with Peter's face, the wedding ring on the middle finger shimmering brightly before slicing open his forehead, then coming away with deep-red blood dripping from it.

Peter felt, with fiery embarrassment, a drop of dribble run down his chin, as he lost control of his body.

He remembered Davis, he remembered the shots of electricity, the burning the pain and then the peace. It was such a peaceful peace – he didn't feel, know or think in that peace. He was nothing.

Then he remembered the shocks and the rescue. He remembered Tony Stark and another guy, saving him. And then he remembered what Tony had told him, as he lay semi-unconscious in his arms.

And then Peter's vision was clouded by rushing, babbling and worried paramedics. They surrounded him, prodding and poking and asking him questions. Peter felt panic consume him.

What was happening? Had something bad happened?

He faintly noticed Tony being ushered out of the room, but not before he could cast a small, comforting smile at Peter. But the worry in Tony's eyes didn't work to make him feel better.

Peter became vaguely aware of a racing 'beep beep beep' of the heart monitor and focused on calming himself down. As he did so, the medics began to disperse, relief evident on their faces.

All except the man Pete had woken up to.

"Hey, Petey." He said, smiling warmly at him. Peter was already hating the new nickname. He was Spider-Man, not some soppy-eyed schoolboy. He ignored the doctor.

"You need some sleep, my boy." Doc stated, and he reached over to the medical table next to the bed. "I have a drug that contains some codeine and morphine, so it should help ease the pain. And hopefully, it will make you a little bit drowsy, so you can have a nice seep."

Peter nearly cringed at the way the doctor was talking to him. Sure, sometimes he acted like he was twelve, but, really, he was fifteen.

All the same, Peter nodded.

Then the doctor injected the drug into the crook of Peter's arm, and almost immediately sent the dull colours in the room swirling together into one mass of grey, that slowly faded into a peaceful black. It took a little longer for the quiet noises in his ears to fade, but once they did, Peter slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	8. 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony talks to Peter...it doesn't go so well.  
> (THIS IS SO CHILDISH AND BAD OH MY GOD)

". . . but he'll be OK, Mr. Stark." Was the first thing Peter heard when he woke up next.

The pain was more evident now, especially in his right thigh, where he had been shot. He scrunched his already closed eyes, trying to rid them from the dryness that he felt even under the closed eyelids.

"Three weeks?" Tony replied, astounded. "Three we-! There's no way Peter would want to be in here for three weeks!" Peter winced at the volume of Tony's incredulousness.

"It is the only way he will heal properly. He lost a lot of blood, and he is very lucky that he is even alive, let alone recovering. Most people would die from that much injury, or at least be in a coma for many years." The doctor was saying in a thick, African accent. He heard a deep and irritated sigh from Stark.

"Yeah, well Peter isn't 'most people'!" He exclaimed.

Peter opened his eyes, and thankfully the room was still very dark. Even the smallest slit of light that came through the gap in the curtains made his eyes ache when he looked at it.

"You still haven't explained to me WHY he isn't 'most people' and I don't expect you will." Doc said, in a very prompting way.

"Nope." Tony said simply. The doctor sighed. "I need to take him to my facility."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"Probably." The billionaire said. "We can take care of him better there, we have the resources to help him. He'll get better faster."

The doctor didn't seem to have an argument to that. Peter heard a few supressed noises of protest, before a tired sigh.

"We can let you take him, but we need regular updates on his condition. I presume you have qualified doctors and surgeons if he goes into cardiac arrest."

"Yes, but I don't see why that would be necessary – you said he was ok, as in, not in for any more heart failures." Tony said, concerned.

"Yes, well there's always a risk, no matter how small. And moving him from place to place might put a bit more pressure on his lungs and other vital organs."

"I . . . I'm O-OK." Peter rasped, and was pleased to find that he could talk now. The tube that was keeping him alive was gone – which meant he was able to survive on his own. He felt his leg ping painfully.

"Peter!" Tony rushed to the bedside, relief evident all over him. The doctor surveyed, almost seeming disappointed.

"You're awake, good." Doc said grimly. "Mr Stark, I recommend keeping him here for another hour or so – the police are coming to question him on the events that occurred and who was involved."

"What? No, I'm not gonna allow the police to interrogate him. Yet." Tony added when he saw the look on Doc's face. "He's too hurt."

"They're coming now. Nothing you can do." 

 

Tony turned and glared at Peter sarcastically, in a way to say; 'I'm sorry, this guy is a prickly-ass baboon'. Or something along the lines of that.

True to his words, the police and even two members of the FBI arrived, much to Peter's shock. Tony watched, as the five officers gathered around the bed. One man and one woman seemed to be the ones that were asking the questions, and the other three were recording what Peter said. More specifically, two men had notebooks and were frantically writing down word-for-word what Peter mumbled, and the other woman was holding a small, recording device to Peter's head.

Peter just lay there, wringing his hands nervously. He couldn't answer the majority of the questions that were asked – he had been too out of it to understand anything of the situation he had been in. Or rather, for some of the questions, he didn't want to answer. Like the; 'why do you think they were targeting you?' questions and the; 'who was involved?' questions. He knew answering the questions honestly would only cause more pain and trouble to come his AND Tony's way.

"Thank you, Mr Parker. It was a pleasure to be able to speak with you. We all hope you heal soon." The female FBI agent said, smiling.

And then they left.

Peter looked guiltily up at Tony when the man returned to the chair next to his hospital bed, squinting at him suspiciously.

"That wasn't very convincing." He stated shrewdly.

"Yeah, well, there's stuff that authorities shouldn't know." Peter retorted sagely.

Tony lifted his eyebrows, and nodded his head. "Fair enough, kid. Well, lucky I'm not an authority, then, hey? You and I both know this is a task for the Avengers, and the Avengers only. So, if you got any more information, we sort of need to know. You know, to be able to stop them." Tony prompted, looking at Pete sternly.

"Well, as you probably know, it's Toomes." Peter mumbled, and looked at his fingers. Tony nodded. "And this other guy – um, it was something like Dane . . . Darren . . .?" Peter murmured, listing off a few more names with his fingers. "Damien . . .? Wait, that's it! Damien was his name." Peter said, maybe a little too happily.

Tony was barely listening. Peter was never like that – too disorientated to concentrate, to remember. Something else was wrong, probably with his brain. It didn't surprise him though – he had expected there to be long-lasting injuries inflicted upon the boy.

Still, it worried him.

"Um, Mr Stark, you OK?" Peter asked innocently.

Tony snapped back to attention, nodding hastily.

"Really? I'm pouring out my heart to you, and you're not even listening!" Peter exclaimed sarcastically, acting offended.

All Tony did was roll his eyes. "Anyone else you remember?"

"Yeah, one more guy. Um, Aaron Davis. He actually tried to save me, but then I stuffed up and called you and he chickened out and ran for Toomes. After that, he just sat back and watched the show." Peter said darkly, remembering the pain.

Tony bit his lip. "And . . . the mask?"

Suddenly, Peter blanched. His suit! He hadn't even realised he didn't have his suit on – he was wearing one of the hospital gowns. The sudden movement of Peter bringing his hands up to his chest made his body burn with the painful effort.

"Your suits safe, don't worry. Glad to see you care about it so much." Tony said smirking.

Peter sighed in relief. But his relief quickly vanished when he remembered the question. He looked at Tony, his eyes wide and fearful. He didn't want to give the answer, because he knew Tony would hate it. And who knows what he would do with Peter if he found out. But the dawning comprehension on Tony's face told Peter that his look of surprise and anxiety had done enough to let Tony in on the matter.

"They know?" Tony whispered, horrified. "Peter, why did you let them see? Do you know what this means? They are NEVER going to stop looking for you! And now they know . . . you're not safe in public anymore. Neither is your aunt – you can't go to school anymore, or to buy sandwiches at Delmar's anymore, or . . . or . . .! From now on, you have to stay in Avenger's Tower, under twenty-four seven supervision." Tony rambled, anger in every syllable.

"Y-you . . . no!" Peter whisper-shouted. "No, OK? I have a life, and I'm not gonna just stay in some super-tower cowering behind heroes like Captain America and-and Iron Man!" Peter exclaimed, hurt.

"Well you're gonna have to, because of your  _carelessness_  and your  _stupidity!"_  Tony shouted, veins popping up on his temples and his neck tensing. "Why would you let them see? Why were you so naïve enough to let them see who you are? Are you an idiot?"

Peter gaped, his face cold with fury and bemusement. He was so furious and astounded, that he couldn't find the right words to fight back with.

"You-you think . . . who do you-? Seriously? YOU THINK I WOULD LET THEM SEE? DO YOU THINK I HAD A CHOICE?" Peter screamed as loud as he could (which wasn't very loud, in fact his voice came out as more of a stressed wheeze) and then he fell into a coughing fit, his hands clenched into fists.

"I-I . . . you're right. Sorry." Tony mumbled, looking at his knuckles, ashamed. "I'm just, you know, worried. You just need to be safe." He said awkwardly.

"I can take care of myself." Peter said coldly, but he was quietly honoured to have such an important person be this scared for him.

Tony grinned at that. "Yeah, sure."

Peter raised a hand to his chest and opened his mouth, pretending to be offended, and he heard a snicker from Tony.

Then the billionaire got up, patting Pete's leg with his hand – maybe a little too harshly – and walked to the door. He opened it and quickly closed it again when he saw Peter flinch at the sudden light that poured in. Then he said;

"Get better." And hurried out the door.

Peter wasn't entirely sure what Tony Stark had meant by that comment, but he laughed all the same. It felt good to smile.


	9. 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to school with Peter Parker: a guide to being bullied

"No, Ned! I can't."

Peter and Ned were walking down the school hallway, grey lockers barricading the walls on either side of them.

"Really?" Ned said, in awe. "That's so cool – I mean, weird. Bad. Yeah, that's so bad." He corrected himself quickly, after a glare from Peter.

"Oh no, Flash is coming." Ned warned, and Peter unconsciously grabbed onto Ned's arm nervously. Peter looked at his feet, feeling his hands shaking slightly.

"Aye, Penis Parker!" Peter heard the obnoxious voice call down the hall and a few people sniggered.

"Go away, Flash." Ned said angrily, and Peter felt a rush of gratitude toward his friend. At least someone cared.

"Is it true?" Flash asked, much nearer now. Peter's heart dropped.

Peter let go of Ned's arm, and took a defensive step forward. "Yes." He felt Ned's hand on his chest, holding him back. From what, he wasn't sure.

He heard a satisfied 'ooooh!' from Flash and a few whoops and claps from his cronies that would be gathered around him. Peter closed his eyes, and took a deep steadying breath.

"Aw, don't cry, baby Parker!" Flash whined, pouting his lip mockingly.

"C'mon Peter, let's go." Ned piped in, while Flash's friends laughed and made fake crying noises.

Peter let Ned lead him away, rather reluctantly, much to the delight of his enemy. He could hear Ned swearing under his breath, and felt bad for his friend.

"I'm sorry, Ned. I . . . I'm-." Peter began, breathing heavily.

"Why are you sorry? I'm sorry. Being blind isn't cool." Ned apologised. "Here, we're at your locker."

"Thanks, Ned." Peter murmured.

He lifted his quivering hands to the blur of grey in front of him, his fingers falling upon the cold metal of the lock. Thankfully,he wasn't fully blind, otherwise he really would be crying. Maybe. Probably not - but that's not the point. The point is that, once again, Flash has something to tease Peter about, along with everything else he already has. What's more, is that - with his faulty sight, he was beginning to receive more and more anxiety attacks. He thought they had gone after the spider bite, but they had come back, now worse than ever. He just longed to be back out on the streets, flying from building to building freely, the air in his hair and breath in his lungs fresh. If only . . .

"Peter . . . ? Hullo?" Ned was saying, his voice a mix of annoyance and worry and boredom.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't - I was just . . . not listening. I wasn't listening, what did you say?" Peter stuttered, after at least six attempts at opening his lock.

There was that, too. For the past couple of weeks, he would find himself drifting off. Not concentrating - or more; not ABLE to concentrate. He could only apprehend about twenty minutes of their classes, before his brain slowly shut down. A few times, much to his embarrassment and Flash's glee, he would be woken with a start by his teacher, asking him a question, which usually followed with a 'do you need to see the nurse?'. Peter's most hated sentence. He hated attention.

Before he knew it, he found himself outside arithmetic. Know idea what he had done between opening his lock, and ending up in the doorway - he presumed the usual, because of the books piled up in his arms. He strained his memory, but it was like nothing had happened. That he had just magically transported here, with all his stuff. Damn, third time this week. And it was Monday . . . wasn't it?

No, it was Tuesday. Wow, Monday went very fast, especially for a Monday.

Arithmetic passed by in a blur, Peter barely remembered any of it. Only the part where the teacher asked him to read from the chalkboard and he had a - mild - panic attack because he couldn't. He remembered that. He remembered Flash's triumphant face.

Now it was lunch break. He always enjoyed lunch break. Just a time where he can go and sit in the quad, and probably sleep. He could talk to Ned and receive insults from Michelle and just relax with nothing to worry about. Momentarily. But today, Liz decided she would join.

"Hey, Peter. And Ned. Michelle." She nodded at Ned and Michelle, and gave Peter a nervous smile. Peter eyes widened a bit, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was because he was surprised, or trying to see her better. To be able believe she had actually smiled at him. Oh God, he's so stupid.

"Um, I just wanted to talk to you guys about decathlon, you know." She said, and Michelle rested her head in her hands, seeming bored already. Ned was staring wide-eyed at Peter, who could tell even through his blurry vision. He squeezed his lips together at Ned, silently wishing him to stop making everything so obvious.

"So, Pete, are you up for doing it this year?" She asked. Peter nodded stiffly - had she called him Pete? Omigosh she just called him Peter.  _God, Peter, calm down,_  he told himself. He was acting like a kid. And he was pretty sure he wasn't.

"Yeah, I - uh, I don't have the internship anymore, so . . . yeah, my schedule is pretty open." He said, his voice rising in pitch, girlishly.

Which was true. He hadn't been in contact with Mr. Stark since they had fought around two weeks ago. Peter had thought after he visited him in hospital, they would be OK with what had happened. Obviously not, because the genius once again thought everything was his fault. He remembered the hard look on Mr Stark's face as he told Peter that he needed the suit back.

 _"If you die; I'd feel like that's on me."_ He remembered Tony telling him. He had felt his heart ache at that moment, surprised at the billionaire actually expressing his emotions.

 _"I don't need that on my conscience."_ He had continued to say, and Peter had frowned. Of course, it couldn't of just been because his mentor cared for him. It was because he didn't want to loose sleep over another life that was lost. Of course, Mr Stark didn't care if Peter lived or died, just as long as he didn't have to be the one to tell May. Of course, Mr Stark didn't care - of course it was all about himself. As long as he didn't suffer from Peter's death, Peter could die a million times and everything would still be unicorns and rainbows.

At least, that was how Peter felt. And how could he feel any different? The suit, being Spider-Man, helping people - that was what he got out of bed everyday for. By taking that away from him, Mr Stark had taken away his meaning. He didn't know how he was able to roll out from under his sheets every morning, go to school, eat dinner with Aunt May and then go back to bed, pretending nothing was wrong. It was infuriating.

And not once had the billionaire even texted him. Not even tried to call him, see if he were OK. It was like Peter just didn't exist anymore - he really was just another intern that had failed Tony Stark. The high and mighty Tony Stark, who didn't need anybody in his life, because  _apparentl_ y all anyone ever does to him is prove that he still has a heart - something he seems to like to ignore.

"Hey, are you OK?" Liz was asking. Peter swore to himself - he had done it again. Drifted away.

"Uh, yeah, I just need some air." Peter said hurriedly.  _Damn it - we're outside._  But he got up from his seat and walked swiftly to the entrance into the locker room, trying to ignore the incredulous and mocking face and expressions that followed him all the way there. Mostly from Flash.

"Oi, Parker! There's air outside too, genius!" He heard Michelle yell to him, before he threw himself inside, leaning against the corridor wall, breathing heavily. He hands were shaking:

Because Mr Stark thought he would be fine. And so did Peter. Peter always ended up fine.

Because he had made everyone worried - Aunt May, Ned, Michelle, even Liz.

Because he was never good enough for Mr Stark. Because he never will be.

And mostly, because he was scared. Because he  _wasn't_  alright. Because with every passing hour, minute, second, he was dying.

And because Mr Stark had no idea. And neither did he.


	10. 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I said I wouldn't finish the story on this site, but guess what?? I changed my mind. Again.
> 
> Now, enjoy my cringey ass chapter, that I wrote back when I didn't know how to write.

Peter's condition only worsened over the next few days.

Ned was constantly sending worried glances at Peter during his classes – or what he remembered of them, and as soon as Peter would get home, his phone would 'ding' non-stop with his best friend spamming him millions of texts about 'are you OK' and 'did you get home safely?' and 'do you want to watch Star Wars?'. Although, the Star Wars one was a pretty normal one.

Liz seemed a bit torn, though. It was like she was unsure of whether she should be worried about Peter, try to help him or avoid him completely, in fear that she would also catch his disease.

His condition was so bad that even Michelle Jones seemed to give a damn. In her own, strange and sarcastic way, but Ned would still tease her endlessly for actually proving she has feelings. Though, then again, she had only ever talked to Peter about how he was feeling once – all the other times she had just talked behind his back to Ned.

And it was with his two friends that he now sat.

". . . or we could play Mitosis?" Ned was saying, and Peter snapped back to present. God, he hated this. He hated being so distant all the time, and seeming rude and never listening and always feeling tired and . . . and . . . ugh!

"Peter, buddy, you good?" Ned asked, his face appearing a few inches away from Peter's. Peter jumped, and nodded hastily.

"Yeah, fine." Hell, that sounded rude. He closed his eyes in guilt.

"Yeah, what's been going on with you lately, Parker?" MJ asked, staring at him suspiciously.

Peter didn't answer, just glared at his shaking fingers angrily. Why were they shaking? He wasn't cold, or scared. He could feel MJ's cold stare and Ned's concerned one trained on his face. He couldn't look into their eyes, he couldn't tell them how he was feeling – mostly because he didn't know himself.

"You know, you can be an asshole sometimes, Parker." Michelle said simply, and Peter felt her gaze turn away. He now looked up, frowning.

"What do you mean?" He asked innocently. She scoffed.

"You know what I mean. There's obviously something wrong, but you won't tell us, and now you're causing poor baby Ned here to freak out, and from what I know about mental abuse, that's selfish." Just Ned? Peter found himself wondering. MJ was purposefully avoiding eye-contact with him, and Peter couldn't help but wonder why.

"Peter, I don't know what's happening right now, or how you're feeling, but remember you have friends – "

"Friend." MJ emphasized. "I don't have friends."

"– shut up, MJ. Peter, you can talk to us. You don't have to tell us everything, just let us in on what you're feeling." Ned said quietly, and Peter looked at him with a pained expression. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how he would explain how he was feeling at all, and about his black-outs and constant fear and pain and confusion and dream-like state and – maybe he shouldn't tell them.

"I don't know what's happening to me." Peter found himself blurting out in a shaky voice. He saw out the corner of his eyes – that were still trained upon his wringing hands – Michelle's stiffened state slowly soften, and her shoulders sagged slightly. Both his friends were silent.

"I'm always tired. I can't seem to concentrate on anything. I have these . . . moments, where I can't remember anything I'd said or done. Like, nothing happened and all that happened was black. Like, time-jumps, I guess. And, not being able to see anything properly makes it all seem – I don't know – not real? I think I have sleep paralyses too, because I can never tell whether I'm awake, or in another one of those horrible nightmares. I don't even know if this is real . . . is this real? I don't – I can't . . . I don't wanna-!" Peter stuttered, feeling his breaths quicken, not knowing what to say and head being stuffed with cotton. He was scared, he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to be weak or scared or sick. He didn't like this. He didn't like this.

"Peter! Peter, calm down, just breathe. Breathe." Came a voice from somewhere to his left, and he leant into it, the soft tone comforting. Peter wasn't sure how long had passed before he found himself shaking, with arms wrapped around him.

He didn't protest, but he didn't hug back. Instead, his arms were wrapped around his legs, and he was rocking. Rocking! God, he must look like such a baby. He immediately stopped, once he had realised he was doing it, and felt heat rush up his neck. That was embarrassing.

"What the hell was that?"

"Was that a panic attack?" Came both Ned's and MJ's voices. MJ's was closer, so he figured it was her who was hugging him. Huh, strange. Michelle hates hugging. Ned probably forced her.

He opened his eyes, only just finding out they were closed. Though, it didn't make much of a difference, because still all that he saw was a haze of colours and shapes. He unwrapped his arms, and MJ pulled away, slightly awkwardly. His whole body shivered, and he pulled his jumper further around his body.

"You OK?" Ned asked, and Peter blinked, slowly nodding his head. Yeah, he was OK. Sort of.

Not really . . .?

Maybe not. Oh well.

"How long has this been happening?" Ned was swirling in front of him, his dark figure only a meter or so away from him. He couldn't see Michelle anymore.

"A . . ." he began, and found his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat, and continued.

"A couple of weeks, I think."

Ned's jaw dropped, so wide that even Peter could see a slight change. "Weeks? This has been happening for weeks? How have I not noticed?" Ned seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. Michelle suddenly appeared in front of him, holding out a . . . blur? No, no it was a glass. Of water.

She put it rather forcefully into his quivering fingers, and he looked up at her as best as he could.

"Thanks." He murmured.

"Sure." Was her reply.

He drank the smooth water greedily, gulping it rudely. He hadn't realised he was so thirsty. And now that he thought about it, he was also starving. Sometimes having high metabolism was annoying, but at least it gave him an excuse to eat a lot. Once he had pulled the glass away from his lips, he placed it next to him. He still sat on the floor in Ned's room, and picked awkwardly at the vintage rug on the floorboards.

"Sorry, that was – embarrassing. I didn't mean to-."

"You're saying sorry to us? You just had a panic attack, Peter! Why haven't you talked to anyone about this?" Ned asked accusingly, but still in his – unbelievably – cheerful voice.

"It was never this bad. And, if May knew, she would panic. And when she panics, I panic." He said, taking a deep breath.

"You're already panicking!" MJ said, like it was obvious. Well, it sort of was. But she didn't need to know she was right.

"What about Tony Stark? Does he know?" Ned asked eagerly, like a typical fanboy trying to conceal it. Peter hesitated.

"No . . . no, he doesn't. I-I don't intern for him anymore." Peter sighed, rubbing his face with his hand wearily. Of course, that statement meant a lot more to Ned than it did to Michelle, because only Ned knew about his alter ego.

"So, you're not . . . you know-?"

"No, Ned." Peter said, giving him 'the eyes'. If Michelle found out, his whole identity secret thing would be over. In, like, a few seconds. Ned looked down, seemingly scared that he had almost spilt.

"But that doesn't mean you still can't tell him." Michelle said.

"Well, yeah, it sort of does. I mean, the circumstances in which he dropped me weren't particularly a good 'ending', you know? We're not really on good terms with each other right now." Peter stuttered, nodding his head. Michelle made an 'o' shape with her mouth in understanding.

"Do you know what triggered it? Like, did something happen?" Ned was asking, and Peter froze.

Anything but this question. He had hoped that this topic would never come up again, but he realised now that that was stupid. Of course, the 'past would come back to haunt him', to be all poetic. God, he had prayed that they wouldn't ask that.

"Peter, I know you're not telling us something." His best friends gestured to MJ and himself, and Peter bit down a gulp.

"I'm telling you everything! I'm-!" Peter began defensively.

"Cut the bull. You are, don't lie." Michelle cut across him harshly. "What happened?"

Peter stared at her, wide eyed. Peter could feel her narrowed eyes trained on his eyes too, which made him mildly uncomfortable.

"I, uh, Ned; remember when – a few weeks ago – I said I went to Monaco with Mr Stark for a 'retreat'? That's why I was gone for a week-ish?" Peter began, trying to go as slowly as possible.

"Yeah! How did it go? Was it cool? Oh, did you get to hang out with Captain America?" Ned asked excitedly. Peter nearly burst out laughing. Ned was the dumbest smart person he had ever met.

"Seriously, Leeds?" Michelle drawled, and Peter knew she would have rolled her eyes. "You're the reason this country needs to put directions on the shampoo bottle. And you," She said, pointing her finger accusingly at Peter. "Just get to the point, already, we don't need the whole backstory, Parker." Another eye roll – Peter could sense it.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't actually what happened." Peter said, and he heard Ned make a confused squeak, and MJ huff.

"What a surprise . . .!" She whispered airily, sarcasm practically dripping from her voice.

"Shut up, MJ. Anyway, I didn't want to worry you, so I may've lied, and-!" He paused, when MJ shot him a glare. "Um, I was actually kidnapped." He breathed a laugh, finding it strange. He had never actually said it before, and it sounded unbelievable and weird coming from his own mouth.

"You were what?" MJ said in disbelief. "Uh, I mean, I thought so. It was pretty obvious." Peter smirked.

Ned was silent.

"Actually, by Vulture's guys." Ned let out a little gasp. "Um, they drugged me, and tied me up with vibranium, so I couldn't escape."

"Vibranium? That's intense. I'm pretty sure rope would've worked out fine, you're not that strong." MJ said. Peter stomach lurched – he needed to be more careful.

"Anyway, that's beside the point. Um, they wanted Iron Man to come save me, so they could get money or something dumb like that," Peter sighed – it was half true. Sort of. "and when he didn't, they would hit me, and electrocute me and beat me up and yeah it was fun. Lots of fun . . ." He trailed off.

When he came back, Ned was shaking his shoulders, yelling at him.

"Yo, Peter? You with us?" He asked.

"Uh, yeah sorry. How long was I out?" He asked despite himself. He had blacked out again.

"Like, eleven minutes." Ned said incredulously.

"Oh, OK, that's not too bad." Peter said, slightly relieved. He heard another annoyed and rather surprised squeak from Ned.

"Not too bad? Dude, you looked like you were dead!"

What was knew? Peter thought, bitterly.

"Yeah, well usually I black out for forty-five minutes to an hour. Usually during arithmetic – conveniently." Peter said simply, earning a laugh from his friends. He pressed his back against the wall behind him, and took a deep breath.

"OK, forget about what just happened, for a moment. Tell me more about what they did to you when they kidnapped you. I love the gory details." MJ said, her voice monotone like she was bored.

"Wow. OK, sure. Uh, I don't remember most of it, I was unconscious most of the time," He heard a disappointed sigh from Michelle, and rolled his eyes. "But, um, I'm pretty sure Mr Stark 'saved' me, along with freaking James Rhodes. So, that was pretty cool. Well, not at the time because I was being a wimp and it was embarrassing, but thinking about it now . . ."

"OK, OK, don't go all fanboy on me." Michelle told both Peter and Ned, when she noticed out the corner of her eyes, Ned opening his mouth, a look of wonder shining in his eyes.

"Uh, yeah sorry. Anyway, apparently, I was . . . d-dead, for a while, I guess, before Mr Stark got there." Peter audibly gulped, and both MJ and Ned were silent with horror.

"I still remember exactly – word for word – what Mr Stark was saying, before more help came. He . . . he said he was proud of me. I-I tried to tell him . . . I wanted to ask him to tell Aunt May I-I loved her, and to say bye to you guys, and I wanted to s-say how I felt, and I wanted to tell Mr Stark that he was in danger . . . but I couldn't." Peter didn't even realise he was crying. Silent, though they were, his voice broke every time a knew tear fell down his cheek.

"I felt so hopeless." Peter whispered, remembering the moment. "It was horrible – I just lay there, d-dying, and I couldn't do anything. And it h-hurt so mu-much, I was so . . . so scared! And even now that I'm . . . better – somehow, I still feel helpless. The things Mr Stark told me – it was the only thing that helped me forget about the p-pain. But now, I'm not so sure if he meant it. I-I can't trust him – and that makes me feel . . . great. Spectacular, you know. I'm so -!" He broke off into an angry grunt. He threw his hands into his hair, screwing up his eyes He felt the moisture that had been in his eyes dripping down his nose and drying out. His fear had given way to the fury that he knew he had been feeling for days. He had tried to bottle it up – he had tried to yelling to no-one-in-particular on deserted rooftops. He had tried, and tried, and tried. He had tried to be good enough for Mr Stark. He had tried to be more like his hero – his mentor. He had tried to save everyone, but sometimes he couldn't. Sometimes he fails – no one's perfect, are they? Why couldn't Mr Stark realise that? Would he have cared if Peter had died? Would he have spent days, grieving, crying over the phone to Aunt May? Would he have felt the pain Peter himself had felt, as he was tortured by his enemies, and revealed for who he truly was?

"Holy crap." Peter whispered, his face paling and heart jumping into his mouth. The sound seemed to be sucked out of the room, with a whooshing sound as he hit the so blatantly obvious realisation, but all so terrifying at the same time. He hadn't given it one though since his small argument with Mr Stark in the hospital. Not one! Why was he still going to school? Why was he still going out in public every day, not caring, not realising? Did his recklessness have something to do with the problems he was experiencing?

"What? What is it Peter?" MJ was asking, actually sounding genuinely concerned – she hadn't made a sound the whole time Peter had been crying. Woah, had she felt . . . feelings?!

"M'sorry, MJ, but I really need to talk to Ned. Like, alone. Please!" Peter added, when he saw his friend opening her mouth to protest. She nodded reluctantly, and sauntered out of Ned's bedroom. She may have been listening at the door – Peter wouldn't have known, but for some crazy reason, he let himself trust her. She was distant, but she was loyal.

Ned leaned in, expecting to have to bribe Peter of information, but Peter didn't want to waste another minute. He broke into speech.

"They know! They saw me, they know who Spider-Man really is." He said, stumbling over his words, as they fell from his mouth.

"What? Really? Is that a bad thing, cause I -?"

"Yes, Ned, it's bad. It is very, very bad!" Peter said hysterically. Ned nodded, trying to get his head around the situation.

"So . . . wait, how did they find out?" He asked.

"They-they drugged me, I think, and – well, because I was chained up an' all, they took off my mask, like it was some sort of show. The Vulture, some other creepy-ass guy, and all the people that work for them were there – they all know, Ned!" Peter shouted, then realised MJ might hear him. Ned's reaction couldn't have been further than what Peter had expected.

"OK, so . . . what does that mean?" Ned asked again, confusion laced in his voice.

"What? Wait, you're serious? I just realised that literally all of my freaking enemies knows who I am and I legit can't go anywhere without possibly being tracked or followed or killed! That's what that means!" Peter whispered, bemused.

"Oh." Ned said shortly. "Is it that bad?" he asked again.

"Yes, it's that bad! Yes, it's – God, Ned, they know me! They know Peter Parker! They know where I live, and go to school, and who I . . . love." Peter whisper-shouted, and finally a little more clarity lit up in Ned's face – not that he could see it.

"Ned, they'll come after you. And MJ, and Liz – God, even Flash, and Mr Delmar! Ned, they'll go after . . . they'll go after May." His quiet voice broke at the mention of his Aunt. He looked at his fidgeting fingers, and blinked away a few tears.

Ned didn't answer, but he sensed his best friend move closer. Then he felt warm – slightly sweaty (I know, gross, right?) arms enclose around him, and Peter gripped Ned's shirt, as he leant back into the hug.

"I can't lose May. I can't lose her too. Uncle B-Ben was my fault, and my parents are dead, too. I just – she can't die. They can't find her, they can't hurt her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to her! This is my fault. This is . . . I -!" He sobbed into Ned's shoulder, not caring how much of a baby he sounded and looked and felt. "I'm-I'm fifteen. I don't wanna – I shouldn't have to – I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die." He continued to mutter.

"I know, it's OK. It's OK, Pete." Ned soothed, rubbing his friends back in circles.

It was half a minute later when they broke apart, and Peter rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, sniffing, then hastily wiping away his tears that left his brown eyes blood-shot.

"Do you know your hugs are legendary, man?" Peter stated, letting a small laugh escape his throat.

"Yeah, I've been told, like, seventeen times. By you, I might add." He said, smiling happily. "And anyway, I know you're worried. I would be too – actually, I'd be having a nervous break-down just at the thought of being freaking Spider-Man! But, you an Avenger, man! Well, sort of, but that's besides the point. You know Captain America, and Black Widow, and Iron Man, for goodness sake! I know you're not on speaking terms with Tony Stark right now, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't jump at the chance to help you out, and your 'aunt hottie'. Seriously – don't look at me like that! And I'm not gonna sit here and say everything will be OK, because, well, 1) that annoys you, and 2) it might not be. But you can't control everything, Pete. What will come, will come, and just deal with it when it does. You're right, something might happen to your Aunt, or Michelle, Liz, Mr Delmar, or me, but that's not your fault. You didn't choose to be bitten by that super cool – sorry – by that evil radioactive spider – this whole Spider-Man thing wasn't what you wanted. You've had your fair share of terrible stuff in your life, maybe it's all over now! Oh, and it's not like you're gonna sit around and wait for something to happen, now is it?" Ned said. Ned said a lot. And Peter only counted three times he actually drew a breath in his whole speech.

"What?" Peter asked, answering Ned's last question with one of his own.

"Well, you're not waiting for them to strike, are you? Like, your gonna go out there, and your gonna catch them before they can do anything, right?" Ned asked, urging Peter on.

"Yeah, I-I guess." Peter stammered, feeling stupid.

"Yeah. Good. But you can't do it on your own." Ned began to grin.

"Ned . . .!" Peter began.

"Like, you'll need help, because they're bad guys and stuff."

Oh God, Peter knew where he was going. "No, Ned."

"You can't take on fifty guys at once. Alone."

"Don't say it."

"You need help, out there. You have to admit it."

"Ned, don't you do it. Don't you dare -!"

"I could be your Guy-In-The-Chair!"

". . . he did it."


	11. 10

"Ugh, um, hi. You reached the voice mail of me. You know who I am. I probably didn't answer because I'm ridding the world of hunger . . . or eating pizza in Monaco, at the Grand Prix. And if I'm not doing either, then I'm probably getting intimate with a hot interviewer who couldn't resist my famously good looks. Nah, just kidding – I'm in a stable-ish relationship. Or maybe I just don't like you – ever thought about that, Bucky? – so don't bother calling back. Ok, bye."

Crackle . . . beeeeeep.

"Oh, c'mon, pick up!" Peter muttered to himself. That had to be the longest voicemail ever. Oh well, it was Mr Stark, Peter couldn't really expect much less.

"Peter, honey, lunch is ready!" Aunt May's voice floated down the hall, creeping between the cracks in Peter's closed bedroom door.

"OK, be right there!" Peter shouted back.

He threw his phone angrily onto his bed, and watched it roll off and crack onto the floor. Great, just great. He didn't bother checking if it were cracked or not, and flung open his door. He walked through the small apartment, until he reached the kitchen.

He smelt burning toasties, and his mood lightened considerably. He plonked himself into a seat.

"Hey, kid. So, I thought I'd go a bit special, and make you a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich. You've seemed a bit off, lately, so I'm hoping this'll brighten your appetite." She grinned at him, placing a plate in front of him with three sandwiches piled on it. He smiled back.

He reached for the one on top, cheese dripping from the toast. He pulled it off, and stuck it in his mouth.

The flavour felt dry on his tongue, and the greasy string of melted cheese stuck to his mouth, the oil making it feel slimy. His throat clenched up, refusing to swallow it down. He had half a mind to spit it out, but May was chatting away happily about work and her dinner last night. He could feel himself choking silently, the cheese stuck to the roof of his mouth. His tongue seemed to swell, and he subconsciously lifted his hands up to his throat, scratching at it, willing it to open.

"Peter, honey, are you OK?" May was asking, and Peter knew she wore a worried expression.

Without answering, he got up so fast, he knocked his chair over. He staggered through the lounge, then into the door at the other side of the room. He wrenched it open, flinging himself inside. He could faintly hear May's hurried footsteps behind him and concerned shouts.

He fell against the sink, and retched.

"Oh, baby, it's OK." May was saying comfortingly, and Peter felt her soft hands on his back, rubbing circles. He vomited again, and fell into a coughing fit afterward.

The heaves racked his body, and he felt himself slip to the cold tiles. The feeling of the cool stone, caused the coughs to cease, and now he just lay there, shivering – even though sweat dripped down his forehead.

"Peter, why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?" May cooed, and Peter felt her hand on his forehead.

"God, your burning up!" May muttered more to herself than her sick nephew.

Peter could barely hear her, because of a loud ringing in his ears. He groaned, pressing his face further into the tiles. He was cold. It was so cold. He seemed to be able to breathe again, so Peter took that as a good sign. He gathered strength in his arms, and pushed himself so he was lying on his back.

"M'fine, May. M'okay." He murmured, even though he wasn't feeling particularly fine.

"Are you sure? You seem like you have a bit of a fever." May said, training a contradicting gaze on Peter.

"Yeah, yeah. Just the stomach bug. Been going 'round school, you know." Peter lied, taking in a deep breath. He needed fresh air – he needed oxygen.

May nodded, still suspicious, and helped Peter to his feet. When Peter managed to stand up, he felt himself sway slightly, but his Aunt didn't seem to notice. Thank God. He blinked a few times – a habit he still hadn't gotten out of; it wasn't like it made any difference, his vision remained just as blurry. He sighed again.

"OK, maybe we should cancel dinner tonight with Mr. Warlock." May stated, peering at Peter's unfocused eyes.

"Oh, no it's OK. I mean -," Peter swayed. "you can still go, maybe I'll stay home."

"Are you sure? What if you get worse? I won't be there to help you, baby?"

"I'll-I'll ring you. Or Mr Stark, or Ned, or someone. Don't worry." Peter willed his Aunt to believe him. May would never let Peter leave, knowing he's sick. And Peter had to leave.

"OK, if you say so. I hope your not lying to me, Peter." May said slowly, staring daggers at him.

"May, I'm OK. I'll be fine, I promise." Peter lied again. Well, he hoped he wasn't lying.

"OK . . . OK, if you're sure you'll be OK." May said reluctantly, and Peter nodded enthusiastically – maybe a little too enthusiastically, though May didn't seem to notice. Why was he so prone to self-destructive tendencies? May could easily help him with whatever he was feeling, but if it had something to with being Spider-Man; Peter couldn't risk it.

May walked out of the bathroom, casting a backwards look towards where Peter stood awkwardly, slightly hunched, and lips squeezed together tightly; eyes wide.

"How about you clean this up." May said, gesturing to the sick in the sink. Peter nodded, cringing slightly, and May left.

...

"I'll be back at around eleven, OK?" May said, running her hand through Peter's hair, as he lay in bed. He had been sick at least three more times, and he felt all clammy and groggy.

"Yeah . . . thanks, Aunt May." He whispered hoarsely.

She smiled at him, worry in her eyes. She got up, from where she had knelt next to his bedside, and left, closing the door behind herself. Peter listened intently to her footsteps, walking rather reluctantly down the hall and through the apartment. Then there was the unmistakeable sound of a door opening; shutting, and a lock being scraped.

Peter let out a breathy sigh, untensing all his muscles. He could feel his brain telling him to sleep, because he hadn't slept in nearly 72 hours, but he ignored it. He needed help, and he needed it now. So, neglecting his health, Peter unwrapped his bead sheets from around his body, and pushed himself up so he was sitting. Immediately, blood rushed through his head, causing his vision to black out. He sat, frozen, for a few seconds, blinking away the fatigue and the darkness. Then, using way too much strength than it should've taken, he got to his feet. His head rushed again.

Maybe I should stay in bed. Maybe there is something seriously wrong. Those were some of the thoughts that ran through Peter's tired head. But, instead of grounding him, those ideas only made him more insistent to go.

He couldn't go to the hospital. That was way too risky. If the nurses, or doctors, took his blood, they might find out that Peter has a very strange blood-type. Unique. Or if they tried to inject him with drugs, they might burn up too quickly. So, really there only was one option.

Peter hadn't realised – once again – that he was already putting on the suit. He always like putting it on. It was so light, and easy to fight in. He wished all clothes felt like his Spider-Man suit – not that Peter really needs an excuse to get into any more fights than he already has. Spider-Man or not.

Soon, he was stashing his clothes under his blankets, along with his pillow, trying to make it seem like he was still there. Then he was lifting up his bedroom window, with a scrape. He wasn't frightened, but could still hear and feel his heart beating in his chest. It felt so real. And alive. How strange. How strange that he suddenly felt so aware of his body, as the cold of night swept past him, making his entire body shudder. Apparently, Spider's don't like the cold.

And as Spider-Man swung through the streets of New York, he remembered everything. No black-outs, no dizzy spells. He remembered the bright, flickering lights of the offices and homes, apartments and cars. He remembered the smells of damp concrete, faint cigarette smoke and meat cooking on barbecues. He remembered the sounds of car horns, squealing tyres, faint sirens, loud commercials and music being played in the city's central. The whole of New York was buzzing with life and electricity. Peter loved it.

The chill air blowing through his suit, as he swung from one building to the next freely. Once again, the sensation he had felt the first time he had put on his suit, in the pit of his stomach, bubbled to life. It had been so long. And sure, Mr Stark would probably laugh at Peter – seeing him wearing his home-made Spider-Man outfit, his "onzie". But this suit was all Peter had before Mr Stark came along, and give him a high-tech thing. Sure, Peter still adored the Stark version, but one that he had personally made resonated deeper.

God, why was he feeling so sentimental?

As he made his way around a particularly wide apartment, Peter saw the Avengers tower in the distance. Maybe a kilometre away. The way the cold lights glittered, all through the night, and the Avenger's symbol glowed ever-bright on the rooftop, it made Peter's heart ache. How much would it take, for Peter to be able to walk those halls, and not feel like a failure? How much would it take, for Peter to actually fit in? How much would it take for Mr Stark to realise that Peter has what it takes to be an Avenger?

It took about a minute for Peter to get to the Tower. The rotating doors weren't spinning – it must be too late for visitors. But surely, surely, Mr Stark would let Peter come in. Peter landed, a little unevenly directly in front of the doors. Thankfully, there were no civilians around – Peter didn't want to draw attention to himself. He just needed to get inside.

The air inside his loose mask was beginning to get stuffy. His heart thumping nervously, Peter clumsily reached up to his head, and pulled his mask from his face.

There was a dull ache in the back of his mind.

What an idiot Peter was, to think that it was just a headache. When is it ever just a headache?

And so, it was his Spider-Senses that Peter ignored, as he knocked on the glass of the door, hoping someone could let him in. Worst case scenario, would be Peter having to climb up the building, and find an open window; but the throbbing, fatigue, and crazy-fast heart, made him feel light-headed. Peter didn't want to fall from such a height.

There was a quiet rustle, somewhere to Peter's left. In fact, it was so quiet, that no ordinary human would've been able to hear it. But with Spider-Man's enhanced senses, the small noise was alarming in the still night. Peter froze his knocking, and listened intently to his surroundings, trying his hardest not to turn his head.

"Shh!"

Peter felt his face pale at the hasty whisper. Someone was hiding – why? Who were they? The voice sounded rough, and masculine. However, the person who had made the noise seemed light (although clumsy).

Eventually, his fear gave in to curiosity, and he felt his head turn to the direction of which he had heard the movements.

A bush. A bunch of bushes. What a typical spot for a bunch of serial killers to hide. Reluctantly, Peter followed his senses – walking towards the growth of plants, hands held out defensively.

But Peter didn't get what he'd been expecting.

What Peter would have been expecting, was to find a couple of criminals, hidden in the bushes. They would've been there, at the foot of Avengers Tower, to try and steal some expensive equipment, so they can sell it on ebay for thousands. Possible millions.

Peter didn't expect to see a burst of light. Didn't expect to feel scorching, burning pain, run up his body. Didn't expect to be kicked down by a booted foot, or to be lying in the dirt, staring up at . . . Damien?! The dude from the old abandoned warehouse? Peter lay still, frozen in fear and confusion. Memories of his last encounter with the man floated through his mind, unwanted. Didn't expect to find himself unable to move, or shy away from the alien-tech now being pointed at his face.

And definitely did not expect Iron Man to swoop in and save the day, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a pre-written chapter spam.


	12. 11

"What were you thinking?"

Peter gaped at his ex-mentor. Was he serious?

"What was I – what was I-?" He spluttered. The side of his suit was burnt, and hanging limply off his body. Some of his skin had been scorched, but it was not as bad as a lot of the other burns Peter had received.

He sat in one of Mr Stark's ridiculously expensive cars, in his basement, where he kept pretty much everything he owned. Mr Stark was rummaging around in one of his storage rooms while speaking angrily to Pete.

"Yes!" Tony said exasperatedly. He walked out of the cupboard with three or four boxes piled in his arms.

"What were you thinking? Taking your mask off in the middle of New York City – did you forget that a group of incredibly dangerous criminals know your identity?" He dumped the boxes on one of his workbenches. "You could've gotten yourself killed." Mr Stark said hesitantly, rubbing his face wearily.

"What do you even care?" Peter asked angrily, slumping in the driver's seat.

Mr Stark didn't answer, but picked up a spanner and chucked it at a metal cabinet. It left a relatively deep dent and made a very loud noise. Peter fell silent, staring awkwardly at his hands. Tony leant against the workbench, breathing heavily.

There were a few minutes of heavy silence before Peter found the courage to speak up.

"What're you working on?" Yeah, I know. Feeble attempt at starting a conversation, sure, but thankfully Mr Stark played along.

"Uh, just a new prototype for mark 47 – that is, the new design, which could technically be called mark 48, but that's beside the point..."

Peter's mind said goodbye, for the hundredth time.

"Hey, kid? You with me?" Mr Stark was standing at the boot of the car, a concerned expression on his face.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm-I'm fine." Peter muttered, startled. He shook his head, trying to rid his vision of the dark vignettes at the corners. That wasn't a good sign.

Tony didn't answer straight away, just pulled his eyebrows together suspiciously.

"Okay, sure." He said eventually, disbelief laced in his tone.

"Yeah..." Peter said, letting out a shaky breath, that could've been mistaken for a nervous laugh.

"Anyway, kid, as I was saying before you wandered off to la la land, I could use your help with this project. Of course, you don't have to, I just thought it could be fun, and, you know..."

Peter shook his head quickly.

"No, no. Of course, I can help. Um...what do you want me to do?" he asked hurriedly. He opened the car door, pushing it open. And it worried him how difficult that one, small action was. It tired him mentally, as well as physically.

But as soon as his feet touched the floor, his knees buckled, and his head hit the floor. The world fell into darkness at the worried shout from Mr Stark.

...

When Peter woke, he was lying in the softest bed in the world, and had the worst headache he could ever have imagined. He squinted through his half-shut eyelids, as his fingers curled into fists around the thin sheets that covered him lightly. He could feel an egg on his forehead.

"You know, usually when someone asks you if you're okay – unless you're a genius billionaire who can actually take care of himself (figured I had to put that in there) – you don't just say 'yes', when clearly, you aren't." Came Mr Stark's voice from somewhere to his left. He rolled his head to the side and saw the billionaire sitting at a metal desk, a meter or so away from the bed Peter lay in. He blinked groggily.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mr Stark sighed. "You know I would've done something, I could've helped you. To be fair, I knew something was wrong. You hadn't contacted me for weeks, or Happy – which, ironically, he was happy about. And there had been no Spider-Man on the news, and your grades seemed to be slipping-"

"How do you know about my grades? Have you been tracking me?"

"What? No. And then I began to realise that, mostly during school, your brain input was reducing, and sometimes your cells even shut down."

"You're definitely tracking me. That's creepy."

"I am not-! Okay, maybe I am, but I had permission. Actually, no, I didn't have permission. Well, I did – I gave myself permission. Anyway-!"

"Mr Stark?" Peter asked, and Tony looked at him for the first time. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I was mad, and-and I guess I didn't think you could help. And, of course, I couldn't tell May, 'cos she'd take me to the hospital, and if they take my blood in the hospital, they may figure out who I am, and that would be really bad. And then, I also thought I could figure it out on my own, I guess, but then I started having these hallucinations, and sleep paralysis, and I sort of figured that I should try and get help. And I thought that you would be the best person, because you have, like, your own private hospital."

"Hallucinations? Sleep paralysis?" Mr Stark was asking, incredulously. "Seriously?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you were just feeling faint!"

"Oh."

"How bad is it?"

"How-how bad is it?"

"Yes! Just give me a straight-forward answer, kid."

"Okay, um, well, sleep paralysis, loss of ginormous appetite, um, change in sleeping patterns, hallucinations, and there are these moments where I don't remember anything...? Like, it's just blackness. Time-jumps, I guess...? I don't know."

Peter blinked guiltily, although his stomach still churned with annoyance, and bit down on his lip. Hard. Tony wasn't saying anything, and you could practically hear the crickets chirping. All he did was stare at the desk that he leant against as if daring it to move. It was weird.

 

"How long?" He asked, after a few very awkward minutes.

"What?"

"How long? How long has this been happening?" He asked exasperatedly, slamming his hands on the metal desk, and turning his head to where Peter lay. Peter looked away, avoiding his eyes.

"I, uh, ever since-since-" he couldn't finish because his hands began shaking uncontrollably. He hid them under the covers quickly, so Mr Stark wouldn't notice.

But, even with his unfinished sentence, Tony knew what he meant. And he was leaping from where he sat and reaching for a laptop, that lay folded on the other side of the table. He threw the lid open and began typing furiously.

"Mr Stark?" Peter asked, his heart hammering.

He stopped typing now and instead was scrolling through a webpage, that Peter couldn't quite make out with his messed-up eyesight. He strained, but nothing worked. The look of determination, mixed with pure terror on Mr Stark's face chilled him to the bone. What was possibly so wrong that Mr Stark was freaking out?

"Mr Stark?" He asked again. But still no answer.

And he was getting to his feet, going to a bulky monitor at the side of Peter's bed, pressing random buttons, his hands shaking obviously.

"Mr Star-!" Peter began angrily, but-

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, get Bruce down here, now!" He yelled.

As you wish, sir. Might I suggest-?

"TONY!"

Mr Stark froze at Peter's outburst. He spun around, wide-eyed, to where Peter was sitting up. Tony's face was drained of colour, but Peter's was pink with irritation.

"Just tell me what's going on!" Peter exclaimed, but then all the strength was sapped from his body, and he crumpled to the bed, sucking in breaths. It worried him how hard that was.

Tony strode to Peter's side, worried eyes staring into Peter's, as the boy panted. And God, he had tears in his eyes. Why did he have tears in his eyes?

"Mr Stark," Pete whispered, blinking up through his tears at the mechanic. The man lay a hand on the side of Peter's head, forcing himself to try and stay calm.

"Mr St'rk...what's happenin' to me?" He asked quietly, sniffing. He slurred on his words, as he sucked in another weak breath. And he cursed to himself at how wobbly his voice was.

"Kid, I-I don't know. I just gotta get Bruce to check you out. It's gonna be fine, you don't have to worry." Tony said, but his expression told a different story. And it frightened Peter. But, now Bruce was knocking on the door into the private hospital room. A quick 'yep!' was all Mr Stark could get out, afraid he might choke on his words. Bruce came in, looking slightly dishevelled and unkempt, but holy bad-word, it's freaking Bruce Banner, one of the best scientists to ever freaking walk the planet, but-

Stop freaking out, Parker, Peter told himself sternly. Seriously wasn't the right time to go all 'fanboy' on everyone - as MJ would say.

"What's wrong, Tony?" He asked, and Mr Stark got to his feet and pointed out the door. Bruce frowned, confused, but followed Tony out the door again anyway. Through the door, Peter could see them talking. Maybe Tony forgot, but Peter didn't forget about his super-hearing abilities. But even with heightened senses, Peter could only catch parts of the conversation.

"...yes, and I get that, but-!"

"No, Bruce...understand? Ever since...normal!"

"...fine, Tony! Just let me...over, it's...nothing."

"What if...dying, I couldn't...myself! You...be sure."

"...idiot, Tony. I know...doing."

"Okay...sorry."

 

And then they were both coming in again, and Peter lay still, pretending he wasn't listening. Didn't seem to make much sense anyway, but that may've been because of the fog that was clouding his brain. That was weird.

"Hello, Mr Parker." And Bruce's face was peering down on him, swimming in Peter's messed up eyes. "I'm Bruce Banner, and I was just going to take a look at how you're going, since your accident, a couple of weeks ago. Is that alright with you?"

Um, yes! Bruce Banner wants to see if he's okay, why would he want to turn that down?

"Y-yeah. That's-that's cool. Good, I mean. Fine." Excellent job, Peter. Real smooth.

"Okay, then I'm just going to ask you to lie still for a moment..." And Peter did just that. Mr Banner got out a stethoscope from the cabinet that had the monitors on top of it. He put one side in his ear.

"Is it alright if we take off your shirt? Just so we can have a more accurate view of how your heart's holding up." Bruce asked, and Peter nodded. His heart beat inside his chest, banging on his ribcage almost painfully. He took off his shirt, and Bruce leant over him, putting the other ear in, and holding the diaphragm to Peter's bare chest.

He listened for a moment, moved it around, and listened again. Then, without saying anything, he put the stethoscope away and got out an IV and multiple other contraptions.

"Bruce?" Tony asked, and when the doctor didn't answer, he rubbed his face with his hands.

Peter looked between the two men, his eyes wide, but he had no idea what was happening if he was being honest with himself. Was silence a good thing, normally?

And now Bruce was picking out a syringe, filled to the brim with clear liquid, flicking it.

"Wh-what's that?" Peter asked warily. He really hated syringes. Especially since that night. And even though he knew Bruce wouldn't try to hurt him, he was still anxious.

"It's just something to numb any areas you may feel pain in. Just a precautionary action." He muttered. Peter nodded weakly, catching eyes with Tony, who gave a sad smile. Peter didn't look away from the billionaire's gaze, clinging to it like it was a lifeline. He was too scared and confused.

And then there was a prick, somewhere at the base of his neck, and he let out a small wince. Not that it hurt. And there was a weird, tingling sensation spreading through his veins, that made his whole-body shiver. He gulped down a whimper.

"It's okay, kid. Nothing to worry about." Tony was at his side – how'd he get there? – and rubbing a hand cautiously over the boy's shoulder.

"I'm...'m scared, Mis'er St'rk." Peter murmured, angry at himself about how wimpy it sounded, but Tony nodded.

"I know, kid. I know." He said. Me too, he said.

"Tony, I'm going to need you to make sure he doesn't move, just while I do this. Is that okay, Pete?" Bruce piped up, his face solemn.

Yes, Peter thought.

Oh wait-

"Yes," Peter said.

It was getting harder and harder to draw in a breath, and it was making his chest hurt, now, trying to pull in all that air. And he was sweating under the sheets of the bed, that he wasn't entirely sure how he got into. Where was he, anyway? He could feel the world slipping, and he squeezed his fingers around the sheets, holding on. He didn't know why, but he had to hold on.

 

He didn't even register what Bruce and Tony were doing, and barely even felt the pain as they taped an IV to his wrist. Someone must've noticed, because soon there was a voice floating around in his head.

"C'mon, Spidey, look at me."

The voice sounded familiar, yet...he couldn't quite place it. Now, there was no difference between the back of his eyelids and the world darkening around him, so he let his heavy eyelids drop.

"No, no, no kid, open your eyes. Don't go to sleep." Said the same voice again.

"It's alright Tony, he can sleep for now. We just need to monitor..." Another familiar, but different voice faded away.

Tony! That was who had been talking. Ton...To...his head hurt. And he blinked quickly, realising he hadn't been breathing. He breathed.

"M..." Peter tried but couldn't remember what he was going to...what he was-he can't remember.

"Shh, Pete, you can sleep if you want. It's okay, it'll be okay."

Huh, that sounds quite like something...something...

"May..."

And he fell.


	13. 12

But it was Michelle Jones who helped him back up.

And as he lay in the hospital bed, for the second time this month, he could hear-he could hear...

"I reckon you did this to get out of that Spanish test we have tomorrow."

But he couldn't move. He couldn't see or feel or think, but he could hear her. His body was just dead weight. And, just as randomly as her voice had come, it was gone again.

The next time he woke up – or maybe, became aware is a better word – he could feel tingling in his body. But he still couldn't move, but this time, there was a soft and echoed beep, beep, beep in the background of his thoughts, and-

And-

"Ned's scared, Parker. Maybe if you just woke up to tell him you're okay, he'll stop annoying me."

There it was again!

He tried to reach out for it. He tried to grab a hold of that soft voice, but it slips from his grasp again, and he's gone, gone, gone...

"Please...?" Was the quiet whisper he heard as his mind dropped out again.

And this time, as noises filled his mind, and the tingling grew stronger, he fought harder than he had done before. And he wasn't sure...he still couldn't move, but there was something squeezing his hand – the tingling was particularly stronger there. And the beeping was getting louder, maybe even faster.

"Peter...?" She asked quietly. And Peter heard a disappointed sigh, as the beeping slowed down a bit.

"Okay, so it's been a week since that Spanish test, so you can probably stop pretending now, and wake up."

Peter reached. He stretched, but...he failed. And he fell again, but this time, it wasn't to the blackness of nothingness like the other times. This time, a part of him stayed-

The part that gripped onto the soft, warm hand enclosing his own.

Beep...beep...beep.

And there was a dull ache, through his whole body. And he welcomed it, because that meant he could feel. But it did hurt. It lives, but it hurts.

Beep...beep, beep, beep.

And there was still that contact, grounding him, keeping him from falling for ever and ever. And he didn't let go. he couldn't, and he didn't know why. But he didn't.

And he could hear movement around him, quiet tears being shed, but-but why? He had to help, he had to-

"So, I must admit, Ned's not the only one who's worried, right now." There was a pause, and Peter felt his heart jump a little.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

"May is too." Then a small, wet laugh. "And me, sort of. If you just opened your eyes...maybe I wouldn't be." She whispered, choking down a sob. And then there was a rustle, and loud words being spoken. Words so loud they banged around in Peter's skull painfully, words that didn't make sense, and he could feel panic deep in his bones, layered in fatigue and confusion and-

Beep beep beep beep-

The beeping was getting faster, and he could feel wind on his skin, and a scratching noise, like wheels on a floor. And he could hear her saying frantically-

"No, no, it's okay! He's nearly here! Please, he doesn't need surgery again..." And that word, that word made him feel frightened, and he wanted that hand on his again, but the voice was getting fainter, and-

"Peter!"

And he disappeared into full darkness again.

...

"Peter?" An anxious voice asked form somewhere above him. Everything was still now, and the pain was gone.

He could feel his chest moving up and down steadily, and the beeping was quieter and slower than last time. And...

"Peter, we miss you. Please...just come back, dude."

He had to reply, he had to show he was there, but...his mouth wouldn't open. He tried to squeeze his hand around hers, but it wouldn't move, and he felt his chest ache with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Michelle, but I just have to run a few more tests. You can stay, if you want." An unfamiliar voice said.

There was no reply, but there was a quick mutter of 'thanks', and there was something pressing down on Peter's chest. It was cold and small. Peter felt his mind swirling, and he tried to fight it. He didn't want to leave again.

There was a quick murmur, and Peter strained his whole being to listen.

"It's still questionable, Miss Jones. I'm terribly sorry, but he still might not wake up for..." Peter knew he was slipping, but he forced himself to refocus.

"Years? Years...?" Her shocked and hurt voice rattled through his bones-

And he decided-

Right there and then-

He was gonna come back.

He couldn't wait any longer-

He couldn't let anyone else suffer-

Not for him.

And so, ignoring the blackness opening up beneath him like a storm, he pulled himself closer. Closer to that light and life above him, rippling like the surface of a lake, that he knew was consciousness.

"I'll be back, Miss Jones. Thank you for your cooperation."

He reached for it. He opened his hand toward the voices and sounds, trying to get to it. It drained him. But he kept going.

"...Peter...?" She asked, like she was talking to him. "Peter, I know you're in there. Please..." And she was crying, Peter could hear it, closer and closer-

And he forced himself to regain feeling into body, he tried to push his body to do the impossible, and just freaking move-

And he was realising he could feel a faint ache in his eyelids, and that could only be a good thing.

"Peter?" This time, the plea was more urgent, more anxious, like she was noticing something...could it be-?

"C-can you hear me?"

Yes, yes, yes! Yes, he could! He felt like giving up, the effort only making him more tired. But he couldn't stop now, not now that he was so close.

"Just...just squeeze my hand or make a sound or something. Just...please, come back to me." Peter felt like his heart was breaking, because he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He couldn't go back to her, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Oh! Oh, hey May." She suddenly said, sniffing quickly. Peter froze. Actually no, he already was frozen, but he felt like his heart was frozen. May?

Is it really her?

"Hey, MJ. How're you holding up, dear?" Came his aunt's sweet, kind voice filled Peter's mind, and he felt a wave of emotion so strong, it hurt.

"Oh, you know. I've basically just been yelling at him for missing all his exams at school, but he doesn't seem to care all that much." Her hand left his, but he still knew she was there.

"Come here." Was all May said in reply, and all Peter could hear now was the two women crying and embracing, and it made him feel so broken but so strong and he knew what he had to do-

And he felt-

Building up inside of him.

He used all his strength-

And he took one last leap-

And it built up and up-

He could feel it-

And-

And-

"M..."

And it only came out as a quiet groan.

And it hurt like hell.

But it worked-

It freaking worked!

And everything was silent.

So silent, so shocked, so tense, and then-

"Peter?" She whispered.

And that made Peter wonder...what had he tried to say? May? Or-?

"Oh my God, Peter!" And this time May was shouting it, and Peter winced, scrunching up his eyebrows at the noise, and-

Oh, holy crap he moved!

And there was someone flinging themselves across his chest, hands gripping his body like it was a lifeline, and finally, it didn't matter that he was too tried, or sore, or dead-

And he wrapped his left arm around the shaking body against his, and squinting his eyes open just far enough to see a mane of curly, dark-brown hair.

He felt tears prick his eyes, but none fell, because he wasn't upset. He was euphoric, beyond anything he'd ever felt before, and it was such a feeling he couldn't describe how it made him feel. And the world shone so brightly around him after so long in the darkness of his own mind, and he had no idea what was going on, but it didn't matter because she was here, right now, and nothing could change that-

"Peter, Peter, Peter, oh my God, you're alive, y-you're...oh my God." And she was crying, and Peter was crying, and he could hear May crying and everyone was crying, and it was weird, but it didn't matter!

"M...M'chelle..." He croaked, and she pulled away from him, looking him straight in his half-closed eyes.

And there was something different about her now...or maybe Peter just saw her differently – either way, he felt like his heart was about to explode.

"We've missed you so much." She said, shaking her head slightly. Peter barely nodded, but she seemed to have noticed.

"You...you've no i-idea." He whispered.


	14. 13

"A party?"

Peter looked up from where he sat, glancing at MJ when she asked the question. They sat on the benches, in the quad. Him, Ned, Michelle, Liz and Betty. And, for some reason, Peter found himself avoiding Liz's gaze as much as possible.

But what really surprised Peter, was how he could see. Nothing was just a blurry, fuzzy mess anymore. He could see every droplet of water on the leaves in the trees and the light glancing off the liquid and every freckle on Michelle's face and-

Oh, Jesus, shut up.

"Yeah!" Liz exclaimed, giving a small smile. "I mean, it'll just be at my house, like normal. And it's a chance for you to get out and about and all that." She told MJ, who squinted at her. There was a lot more tension between them than normal, Peter noticed, and that only made things more awkward.

"And, you know, see some guys!"

Peter spun his head to stare at Michelle...and later, he convinced himself that he only did that to see her reaction. But as soon as he cast his eyes to her, he realised she was already looking at him. And when their eyes met, they both looked away, their faces bright red.

"Um, sorry to disappoint, but I've been single my whole life, and it's going pretty well..." Michelle said looking at her twisting hands on the table.

Liz sighed at that, but her face was determined.

"C'mon, just a little bit of fun!" She insisted, but MJ didn't seem to be listening.

"Like...it's working out..." She said, almost as if to herself.

Ned rolled his eyes. "And I'll be there too! And Peter...maybe, I don't really know." He piped up, looking guiltily at Peter when he mentioned his name.

"I think I'm the one."

And there's a long silence. Liz's face goes blank, and Ned slaps a hand to his forehead. Betty's on her phone and probably had no idea what was going on. Peter was cowering a bit, unsure of how he should feel. Awkward? Embarrassed? Jealous-?

No. Not jealous. What the hell.

"Oh wait, Ned's going?" Michelle said suddenly, turning wide-eyed to look at her friend. "That's a definite pass from me, then. Sorry, bud." 

Okay, so maybe they shouldn't use the word 'friend'. Maybe a little out of context.

"Uh...Liz?" Peter asked, his voice a little high-pitched. She looked up at him, humming. Feeling his stomach heave with nerves, he asked;

"Can we talk? Like, privately?" She looked at him almost expectingly, but also seemingly suspicious.

"Um, yeah! Sure. I'm not really doing anything now, so..." She drifted off, nodding. Peter gave her a small smile, squeezing his hands into fists. He got up from the bench, and so did she. And, as he lead her onto the small path between the quad and the garden, he could've sworn Michelle was watching them as they left.

And now, he stood awkwardly, shifting on his feet, as Liz looked at him even more suspiciously now. He hated it when she did that.

"Um, so-" Peter cleared his throat. "-How's your dad, these days?"

Liz frowned slightly as if confused. Well, she probably was.

"He's fine. Thanks...for asking." She forced an awkward smile, nodding slowly. "Um, why?"

"Oh! I was-I was just wondering. Cos, you know, he's out of town a lot, and I know it can be hard, like, living without your parents and that, so-" He blew out a breath, almost cringing up at her.

"Oh, yeah well, he's away a lot lately. He just got a promotion, I think." Liz said, and her face seemed to relax a bit. Peter sighed quietly a bit in relief.

"So...what does he do? His job, I mean." He added.

Liz quickly looked around, and Peter felt a twinge of confusion. Then, she took a small step closer to him and opened her mouth, and-

"He-"

But the bell rang. And she took a step back, biting her lip.

"Um, I guess I gotta get to class now. Sorry." She said, awkward again. "Talk later?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah." Peter mumbled. And he watched her as she walked away, feeling something a bit like distrust simmering inside of him. And he wasn't entirely sure why.

 

...

"Hey, Penis Parker!"

Peter spun around, and started walking down the hallway, away from the gloating voice behind him. He seriously didn't want to deal with Flash right now.

And then, remembering he had Spanish with the bully, he groaned, rolling his eyes. And turned around and walked back down the hallway toward his Spanish class. Of which Flash was standing right outside of.

"Why're you hitting on your girl's dad?" He asked, but Peter ignored him. He tried to walk into the class, but Flash punched out an arm across his chest. Peter closed his eyes momentarily, sighing deeply. He was done with Flash. Really, really, very truly done.

"Not rising to the bait, huh? Did your dad never teach you how to fight?" Peter felt anger clench his heart, at the mention of his dad. "Oh! That's right!" Flash continued, still not letting Peter through.

"He died, didn't he?"

And, God dammit Peter, he felt moisture prick his eyes, and Flash let out a satisfied laugh.

"Wow, are you seriously crying right now? Wuss." He smirked, and a few people from inside the classroom were snickering.

"What a baby." One of the girls said, pointing at him.

"Get your effing hands off of me." Peter growls, except he didn't say 'effing'. (A/N: Chaos Walking, anyone...?) He was trying to control his anger. Because if he snapped, he could seriously hurt Flash and anyone else around him at the time, and give away that he was Spider-Man.

"Woah, Parker, did you use to kiss your mother with that mouth before she died-?" Flash started, and Peter felt like his whole body was being doused in icy fury, but Michelle saved him.

"Just shut up, Thompson. Literally no one cares." She said in her usual bored voice. Peter turned his head, realising she was leaning against the opposite wall in the hallway outside Spanish, quite obviously waiting to get inside. Flash immediately dropped his hand as the teacher walked around the corner, and Peter wiped his eyes, embarrassed. Why was he so weak?

And Spanish passed slowly. Impossibly slow.

He sat next to MJ, and definitely only because Ned wasn't in his language class. He was taking French instead. But Flash kept taunting him, while the teachers back was turned, and Peter didn't know how much more he could take by the time the bell sounded at 3:20. He jumped from his seat, practically skidding from the room and all the way to his locker.

"Hey, dude!" Ned said, from the locker next to his.

"Hey." He said shortly, immediately regretting sounding so rude. But Ned being Ned, didn't seem to mind. God, he had the best friends.

"So, I would do that 'join me and together we can build my new LEGO Death Star' thing, but I've already said that. So, I'm just gonna ask if you want to come over to my place tonight. Oh, and I don't have a new LEGO Death Star, because last time I asked that, I found out you were Spider-Man, and that was way cooler than building things out of LEGO." He rattled off, and Peter grinned as he shoved his school books into his backpack.

"Yeah, um, I'll probably be going on patrol later tonight though. But I'm sure you can-"

"Oh my God he gave your suit back! That's awesome, dude!" Ned exclaimed, clapping a hand over his mouth excitedly. Peter let out a little laugh, nodding his head.

"Yeah, but I gotta tell you all about it. So, you gotta come over tonight because I seriously can't...yeah, just come over, like, ASAP." Peter said, not caring how stupid he sounded, and Ned bristled with uncontrollable excitement.

"Okay, okay, I'll make sure my mom doesn't want me to go to the furniture store with her. I'm getting a double bed! How cool is that?!" Ned said, and they both shut their lockers at the same time.

"Guess what happened in Spanish today." Peter mumbled to Ned, as they walked through the nearly empty hallway. Pretty much everybody had already gone home. Ned and Peter always take a long time to get prepared.

"Oh now, did Flash-?"

"Yeah. And I freaking cried! In front of him and the whole class and MJ, Ned! MJ!" Peter sighed, rubbing his face. Ned frowned at Peter, his concern for his friend shown clearly on his round face.

"You don't need to feel ashamed, Peter." Came a quiet voice from behind them. Both friends spun around, and Peter's jaw dropped open in shock.

It was Flash. And the look on his face – regret, regret, regret.

Peter wasn't entirely sure of what to say, and both of them just sort of stood there, gaping like a pair of fish.

And then Flash's expression changed, from the sorrow into an evil grin.

"That's your parent's job."

And he reached up and ruffled Peter's hair. But he barely noticed.

Because now he was gripping Flash's forearm in his hand, twisting it from above his head. He heard Flash let out a cry of pain, but he didn't care. The rage and hate boiled inside of him from years and years of bullying and holding it all in and he was letting it out now-

And he swung back his arm, as he held Flash in a painful grip-

And he punched the bully in the stomach-

And that sent him flying across the hallway, and-

SMASH-

He crashed into the lockers, leaving a dent there.

And Peter stood there, breathing heavily, hands shaking. Ned was staring horrified at both Peter and Flash, eyes as wide as saucers.

And Peter blinked, falling back to reality with a whoosh, and stumbled back a few steps in surprise at what he had done. He couldn't tear his eyes away from where Flash lay, unconscious.

"Oh my God..." Peter whispered, not knowing what else to say. "Oh my God..."

"Peter..." Ned began, but Peter was already staggering down the hallway.

He had let go. He had freaking let himself go. He was such an idiot. And now Flash was hurt because of his stupid recklessness. What a freaking coward.

And he ran down the hall, eyes set firmly on the wide double-doors at the end of it. And he ran and ran and felt regret at leaving Ned to deal with Flash and regret of hurting Flash himself and, and-

He fell through the doors, eyes searching frantically for his bike in the racks and his eyes passed over-

What the hell?

A sleek black car, the wheels orange and one of the fanciest cars Peter had ever set eyes on.

And standing by the door, black suit and sunglasses – the whole lot – was Mr Stark.


	15. 14

"Get in."

Peter blanched.

"M-Mr Stark?" He stuttered, wringing his hands nervously. The man quirked an eyebrow, spreading his hand out to his car. Was Happy in there?

He blinked a few times, trying to forget about Flash and Ned, cos why was Tony Stark picking him up from school? Maybe he'd done something wrong...or maybe he's about to be told he's going to die or something like that. There was always news when Tony Stark was around.

"Um...why-?" He began.

"Don't ask, just get in, kid." He muttered, cutting Peter short. Peter sighed grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest. Not moving.

"Jesus, kid, I'm not gonna kidnap you! We're going to the tower, and I wanted you to come with to check something out. And now that I've told you, it completely ruins the surprise, so just get in and stop making a scene." Mr Stark grumbled, striding to the passenger seat of the car, without looking back at Peter. Little did he know, Peter pulled a rather inappropriate face at him.

Make a scene in front of who?

But he felt a tinge of excitement at the mention of him wanting to show Peter something. So, he pulled open the metallic door,and hopped into the cream-leather seats. Sure enough, Happy was sitting in the driver's seat. Peter let out a quick 'hello, Happy!' but got no answer. He hadn't expected to. The car smelt like cologne, and it was so clean and polished it looked like it was a day old. Even the windows were perfectly clear, not a speck of dust on them.

Why is he so extra?

"Excuse me?" Came Mr Stark's mock-offended voice from the front seat. Peter froze – had he said that out loud?

"Well, um, you know...how old is this thing?"

There was a long silence, as Mr Stark debated on how he should answer.

"Nearly...two and half years, now." He said. Peter grinned to himself, as he clipped on his seatbelt.

"Do you have, like, staff who keep your hundreds of cars intact? Like, daily washes and polishes or something?" He muttered, as Happy started the engine and they began to roll through the car parks.

"Um, no. Just for the record, I do all the 'car washing' myself – what else am I supposed to do all day? And also because I'm the only intellectual who works for me."

Peter let out a small laugh, as Happy coughed in offence.

"So, uh, what's the surprise?" Peter asked, voice slightly high-pitched, because of the growing excitement.

"Pretty sure I never said there was gonna be a surprise, and I just wanted you to check something out, but you, being the only semi-intellectual who works for me, probably worked that out." Mr Stark said, readjusting his sunglasses.

"Um, yeah," Peter felt his cheeks blush with pride, just for the billionaire calling him a semi-intellectual (is that even considered a compliment?), "so what is it?"

Tony let out a bark of fake-amused laughter. "If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise, goofball."

Peter sighed in defeat, looking out the window, at the world rolling by outside of this big tin can. He'd pretty much memorised the route from his school to the tower. And his house to the tower, and from the hospital. Oh, and also from the garbage dumpster on the fourth avenue down from where he lived, next to the really dirty apartment block that his webs didn't stick to well. That's usually how he ended up in the dumpster.

Anyway, he knew they were only about a couple minutes away, but he felt like it took ages. Especially with only a bunch of the exact same looking buildings as the view from the car window. And after a few days, that Mr Stark said were only three minutes and forty-seven seconds, they arrived.

"Alright, everybody out before my head explodes." Happy demanded, sounding very not-happy. But very Happy-Happy. Were they even making that much noise?

Well, maybe. They did have Hit 92.9 Radio on...considerably loud, too. Apparently Happy listened to that boring channel that played songs from the 1940's. But Mr Stark listens to all the new stuff, probably wishing he was young again.

Oh, yeah!

"Hey, Mr Stark, how old are you again?" Peter asked innocently, as they walked through the garage, slash airport, slash hangar. It was huge, possibly twice the size of a football oval. And filled mostly with cars, and a few quinjets. That all belonged to the philanthropist striding along in front of him.

"You don't need to know that, kiddo." He laughed, and Peter hurried along in his footsteps. He sure did walk fast.

"Ooh, c'mon, you can't be that old!" Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands out in front of him. "Can you?"

"I'm a few years older than you, let's just say." He turned a

corner sharply, giving knuckles to a tall man dressed in a formal, army uniform, and-

"Oh my God, James Rhodes!" Peter blurted out, before he could stop himself. Rhodey turned to look at him, surprised at the young teen who apparently knew his name.

"Hey, um..." He trailed off, looking between Tony, who had stopped walking, and Peter, who was practically staring heart eyes at the man.

"Parker Pete...P-Peter Parker." Peter rambled. Real smooth, you weird child. Real smooth.

Rhodey grinned at Tony, who's was rubbing his face in embarrassment. Peter didn't care though.

"He's a smart kid, Rhodey. Unless it's involving a normal, everyday conversation." He reassured his friend.

"Who is he?" The man asked, and then, turning to Peter, "Who are you?"

Peter pulled his eyebrows together in slight confusion-

"P-Peter Par-"

"He's an intern. Works for me. Filing, organising documents, all that boring stuff." Mr Stark interrupted, and Peter blushed a deep shade of magenta. That's what he meant. Right.

 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." Peter mumbled, fidgeting with his hands. Tony smirked, giving him a short rub on the back – the only form of physical affection he can manage.

Rhodes raised his eyebrows at his friend, before walking away, into a group of air-force soldiers, who must be training here. Tony sighed at the young boy next to him, before leading him to double doors at the back of the garage, slash airport, slash...yeah, anyway.

He held them open for Peter, and he walked through into the common room. And nearly fainted.

Because there, surrounding a long wooden table in the middle of the large room, were every single freaking Avenger. And every single one of their heads turned in surprise as the doors opened to reveal a scrawny fifteen-year-old kid standing there.

"Woah!" Peter gawked, eyes wide. God, he felt so tiny. And insignificant. And so effing STUPID! But it was amazing.

"What's this, Stark?" Came a low, smooth voice from the top of the table. And it's Captain America – who else? Peter just about passed out...possibly even away.

"Okay, peasants, listen up!" Tony said loudly, walking to the opposite end of the table to Steve Rogers. Most likely on purpose. Most definitely on purpose.

"So...this is Peter Parker – you know, my intern." Tony announced, staring with his eyebrows raised at the Avengers. Who, in return, were nodding, eyes wide.

Odd.

But they turned and looked and Peter, who blushed a very deep red, waving his hand timidly.

"Hi." He squeaked.

"Hey, kid." Bucky Barnes – the freaking Winter Soldier – said, and Peter gaped at him, smiling slightly.

"Tony's told us lots about you, Mr Parker." Captain America said, smiling now at Peter. Who tried not to drool. "He says you're very smart and-"

"Okay, thanks, pop-stand. Now, as I was say-" Tony interrupted, his face turning pink with warning, but-

"How old are you, kid?" Clint Barton asks, an eyebrow raised as he surveyed the young teen. Peter looked at his toes, biting his lips – would Mr Stark be mad if he lied? Probably.

"Um, I'm fi-"

"Okay, everyone just shut up." Mr Stark interrupted, again, shooting Peter a glare. Peter looked questioningly at him, confused. But he didn't think much more of it, as Natasha Romanoff walked up to him, a slight smirk on her face.

"Huh, I thought you'd be bigger. The way Stark described you, you were like the Hulk." She pointed at him, but he didn't say anything. Just stared, wide-eyed. Black Widow could literally run him over in a bus, and he'd thank her.

"Stark likes to talk crap." Clint jested, rolling his eyes in the direction of the billionaire, who was rubbing his face in his hands wearily.

"Okay, okay, let's be nice." He muttered, but Peter could tell he was smiling under his hand.

A bang echoed through the room, and Peter spun around, panicked. All the other Avengers tensed, looking worried.

"What the fu-?!" Clint began, but Steve gasped.

"Clint!" The super soldier said incredulously, casting his gaze to Peter. You know, the small, innocent child who absolutely never hears swearing or swears himself. Never ever.

"f-fun...ness...yep." Clint corrected himself, sending a look at Natasha, that Peter couldn't quite make out.

"...OH MY GOSH, DID YOU GUYS HERE THAT?" Came a gleeful voice from the double doors on the other side of the room – the one that lead into the hallways with all the labs in it. A girl stood there, in the middle of the open doors, her hair wild and skin dark like the night.

"Shuri, what have I said about playing with Mr Starks's toys?" T'Challa said sternly, and Tony looked at him, offended.

"Toys? Those are multi-billion-dollar labs, not toys!" Tony exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief and offence.

"Toys." T'Challa argues shortly. Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. But Peter's eyes were glued to the girl, standing in the doorway. And he was already making up a whole new world where he and that girl were best of friends and spent every day of every year in a science lab, inventing things and blowing things up and it's amazing and he wants to be there-

"Hey, puppy-eyes! Wake up." Princess Shuri of Wakanda was waving her hand at him, as he stared at her dumbly. "Uh...hellooooo?" She grinned a bit. Peter flushed for the thousandth time that day, nodding quickly. Idiot, idiot, idiot-

 

"Shuri, Peter – Pete, Shuri." Clint said shortly, nodding to each of the teens in turn.

"Hi." Peter breathed, returning her awkward smile.

She raised her eyebrows at him in return, then turned to her older brother.

"Do you think we could find a way to incorporate vibranium's magnetic field energy into more advanced technological powerlines-?"

"Shuri...not right now, okay? Later." T'Challa interrupted her, waving his hand dismissively. Peter was mesmerised.

"Oh, wait, good idea." Mr Stark piped up, pointing from Peter to Shuri. "How about you both go a play with my toys for a few minutes. And then I'll come and get you when I'm ready."

Peter gaped at him. Really? Sure, being in one of Tony Stark's high-tech labs with one of the smartest women Peters has ever known existed who designed and powered Wakanda, the most technologically advanced city in the universe would be so amazing he would probably die, but...he was gonna look so stupid in front of her. Sure, he's pretty smart at school and all, but next to Princess Shuri of Wakanda – he was nothing.

Tony seemed to realise his distress.

"O-or you could just go hang in the lounge and watch some TV...Sponge-Bob is on at this time." He offered, holding his hands out as if to say 'your choice'.

"You know the Sponge-Bob TV schedule?" Peter asked, grinning widely at his mentor. Tony sighed exasperatedly.

"Just can't say anything right, can I?" He asked himself. Clint sent Peter the thumps-up, and Peter snorted.

"Okay, Shuri, show – oh, that's a tongue-twister – show Peter to the lab you were just in, I've had enough of him for a few years." He demanded and Shuri nodded, rolling her eyes at being told what to do.

"Well, um, Mr Stark I-!" Peter began, but Shuri cut across him.

"Dude, just come. I'm not that boring." She said, and although she meant it jestingly (Peter hoped) Peter felt his chest burn with shame.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean it like tha-!" Shuri shot him an exasperated glare – he'd been getting a lot of those lately, "Yep, alright. Coming."

And she smiled at him. And he gave her a quick, embarrassed grin as he hurried to where she stood, hitching his backpack further over his shoulder. He held the doors open for her as she walked down the hallway – what else do you do when you're with a literal princess?

"So...Peter Parker, right?" Shuri asked, prompting conversation. Peter nodded, then he realised she couldn't see him. He was walking closely behind her.

"Yeah. And you're...anyway." Peter mentally hit himself.

"Mm." She hummed, and turned a corner into another corridor, slightly longer than the last one. "So...what's it like being able to climb walls?"

Peter froze. And blinked twice. And then froze again.

"What-?"

"Oh, this is the one." Shuri said, pointing to an open door, leading into one of the smaller labs. She ushered Peter inside, who was still confused, and he walked in stiffly, taking a long glance at her face as he walked past her. Does she know?

"Do you wanna see what I'm working on?" She asked excitedly. Peter nodded, warily.

"Yeah, but-but what did you-?" he asked, trailing off when he saw a Black Panther suit in the middle of the lab.

It was incredible. It was the signature black, but the joints and edges were all shining with purple light, with gold markings on the chest and forehead. He watched in awe as the purple light slowly turned into a white colour, and ten or so seconds later into a navy blue.

"Wow...that's-that's...wow." Peter said, speechless. Shuri was looking at her feet, pride creeping up her neck.

"Thanks...it's not quite finished yet, but it'll probably be done in a few days – with help, of course." She said, looking at Peter again. "T'Challa doesn't like it – he says it looks like a disco suit. But I thought it was kind of cool, so if he won't wear it then I probably will." She grinned.

"It's amazing...I wouldn't care if it looked like a disco." Wow, Parker, expand your vocabulary.

"So, since you're stuck with me for an hour or how ever long it takes, do you wanna help?" She asked, looking hopeful.

She thinks he can help her? Peter's heart was pounding in surprise and maybe a little bit of pride.

"Yeah! Sure – I'm no where near as good as you are, but-"

"Seriously? You manufactured web fluids for crying out loud! I've tried to do that for years and haven't been able to. It's genius!" Shuri exclaimed passionately. Peter felt like his mind was about to explode.

"W-web fluids? I don't-?"

"I know you're Spider-Man. Everyone does." She said, shrugging dismissively.

"Oh, right." Peter grinned.

But inside, his body was being doused in ice. If someone as important as Shuri knew he was Spider-Man...so many other people could, too. People he didn't want to know he was Spider-Man. Oh my God, did May know? Surely not, she would've said something by now.

"Anyway, and your work on Biophysics: Defying Gravity was insane, I've read it so many times." She continued, not noticing Peter's worried expression. Which slowly slipped off of his face when he heard what she said.

"What the hell, you read that?" Peter gasped.

"Yeah! Stark sent me a copy when you sent him a copy."

"Oh wow, I trusted him."

"No, it was fascinating. You should totally publish one day."

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. He just couldn't and there was no other way to describe it. He was dumbfounded.

"Wow, thanks. Really." Peter said, grinning from ear to ear.

"No problem. Now, do you wanna get started on this beast?" She asked. Peter nodded eagerly.

And an hour passed in what felt like a minute.

And by then, Mr Stark was knocking at the door, having watched the two kids laughing and manufacturing a high-tech suit for a few minutes. And he had to admit to himself, no matter how much it embarrassed him.

He felt proud.


	16. 15

"Hey, kiddos."

Peter looked up startled, and Shuri raised her eyebrows, not even looking up as she focused only on her project.

"H-hi, Mr Stark." He squeaked, grinning at the older man.

"Hi – get your backpack, I need to show you something." Tony said, turning away from those damn puppy-dog eyes.

"Well, I-?" Peter began uncertainly, casting his eyes to Shuri. She looked at him, shrugging in reply.

"Just come, kid. I think she can handle your absence for a few minutes." Tony sighed. What has he done?

"O-okay...um, see you later?" He asked Shuri, smiling.

"Yup. Have fun." She grinned, returning her attention back to the suit, picking at something with tweezers.

Peter grabbed his bag, running a hand through his hair, blowing out a big breath of air. Tony raised his eyebrows at him, then gestured toward the door. Peter nodded, scuttling through the lab and into the corridor, Mr Stark following closely behind.

"So...been getting along?" he asked from somewhere behind Peter. The teen pulled his eyebrows together suspiciously.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, she's cool." Peter muttered, and Tony appeared at his side, having caught up. The billionaire slapped a hand onto Peter's shoulder as they walked.

"Well, don't spend too much time with her. T'Challa might think something smells a bit fishy. And the last time he did, he nearly killed the fu-sorry, bad language – the Winter Soldier."

"Mr Stark..." Peter began, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"Just saying, don't get too close, if you know what I mean."

"Mr Stark!" Peter said incredulously. "I-it's not like that." He added, to seem less suspicious.

"Oh, I know. Just making sure it doesn't become something like that. Anyway, you got that-that, furry-coat guy's daughter, right? Laura? Lisa? Lee?"

"L-Liz...and no. She moved to Oregon." And something in Peter's voice cracked, but not because of Liz. Probably more at the mention of the Vulture. God, he hoped he didn't have PTSD. He didn't think he could handle much more.

"Oh, no wonder you're so heart-broken. So, who is it now?" Tony asked, and Peter could hear the mocking smirk in his tone. He rolled his eyes, shaking Mr Stark's hand from his shoulder, an unwelcome smile creeping onto his face.

"No one." He said shortly, feeling his insides churn.

"Uh huh...I'm not convinced. But I'll interrogate you about it later, because now..." He trailed off dramatically.

They'd reached the end of the hall, facing large doors, that whirred to life. Moving apart, with a puff of smoke, Peter saw it.

In a glass cylinder, in the middle of a circular room, was a suit. But a suit unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

It was red, mostly, and gleamed brightly – was it vibranium? – and on the chest was the signature, black Spider. But it was huge – the legs spreading across the whole torso, the black shape outlined with shimmering gold. It was structured and shaped perfectly to Peter's size, and the eyes were so sharp Peter could see his own reflection in them. It amazed him even more than the Black Panther suit, because – because it was a Spider-Man suit...was it meant for him? Oh my god was it his? He gaped at Mr Stark, his eyes wide with astonishment.

"Happy birthday, kid." Tony grinned, returning Peter's gaze, trying to hide the love at Peter's reaction from them.

"Is this for me?" Peter asked, his voice low and quiet.

"Yup. Wanna try it on?"

"It's for me." Peter said again, staring at it in wonder. "Oh my...this is-this is...wow. Wow, Mr Stark. I-I...wow. And it's not even my birthday."

"Is that all you can say?" Tony asked, putting his sunglasses on. Try to act cool.

"Yeah, I mean, this-this is amazing. I-thank you, thank you so much, I can't-!" He stopped short, sighing deeply.

"All good, kid. You needed an upgrade, anyway. It'll...It'll keep you safe." Mr Stark said. Then cleared his throat. And thanked the lord for sunglasses. For the hundredth time since he'd met that damn child.

"Wait, so...why did you-when-what's the occasion?" Peter asked, tumbling over his words.

Mr Stark looked away from him at that, coughing slightly into his hand. Peter furrowed his brow.

"Um, okay, so did you wanna give it a test run?" He asked, and Peter felt a pang of confusion and suspicion. He'd totally just avoided that question.

"Sure, but-?"

"Well, I'll just step outta the room while you get changed...not particularly comfortable with the whole, you know – you are though, those security cams of you stripping in the middle of a street." Tony raised his eyebrows, holding his hands out as he stepped out of the room again, the sliding doors slipping shut with another burst of smoke.

Peter stared at the closed door for a few seconds, becoming more confused by each second he stood there, staring. But then his eagerness to try on the suit overcame his suspicion, and he undressed, until he was standing in his boxers.

Then he was reaching into the cylinder, feeling the surprisingly soft material under his fingers. It immediately fell limp – from its stiff, standing position – at his touch, and he caught it as it fell.

Next thing he knew, he was standing proudly in front of Mr Stark – who was smiling satisfactorily – in the Iron Spider suit.

"Well, I'd imagined what it would look like, but this – this is incredible." Tony exclaimed, walking a full circle around Peter. "I really do surprise myself sometimes."

Peter grinned, though Tony wouldn't have been able to see it. He looked down at his own body, examining every inch of the new suit in wonder. It fit perfectly.

"And guess what, kiddo?" Mr Stark asked. Peter looked up at him quickly, expectantly, and the billionaire just smiled.

"Hello, Peter." Came Karen's voice from within his suit.

He nearly jumped up and down with joy.

"Oh-oh my God, Oh my-hi, hi, hi!" He said excitedly, and he heard Karen laugh softly. She was basically human.

He loved Karen to bits. She was like his best friend, so human-like – way too human-like for an AI – and she was there for him, not that she had a choice, whenever he faced battles or problems. She was there in that warehouse...

"Th-thank you, so much, Mr Stark. This is...amazing. Incredible. I-I don't know what to say." He babbled, and Tony nodded in acknowledgement. Just nodded.

And that curiosity came back.

"Why'd you make it?" he asked innocently, trying not to sound obvious.

Tony looked at him deeply, seeming to deliberate his answer.

"It's more protective than your old suit. More features, more functional. All that." He said shortly. And although Peter knew what the man had said was the truth, he found himself wondering if it was the whole truth.

And it wasn't.


	17. 16

Over the next few hours, Peter spent his time wandering the compound. He hung out with Clint, mostly, enjoying his goofy presence (much to Steve's disgust). He learnt way more colourful swears. For about half an hour, Nat taught him some new hand-to-hand combat tricks, that he could totally use when patrolling. Steve droned on about honour and righteousness, while Tony rolled his eyes, and he had gotten a chance to say bye to Shuri – who was still in the lab – before he left.

And he'd completely forgotten to text May.

And so, after Happy dropped him back to the old apartment he called home, you could imagine the onslaught.

"Where have you been, Peter?" His aunt exclaimed, her face a mixture of worry and anger.

"Uh, I was-"

"Can you even imagine what was going through my head? I mean, with you being-being...taken and all – have you any idea how freaking worried I've been?"

Peter opened and closed his mouth. "May, I'm-!"

"Don't you lie to me, Peter Parker. Your suit's here and everything. I sure do hope you're not sneaking out, drinking or going to parties, Mr Parker. Okay, you can't just not come home from school! I thought you'd been, I thought-!" She had tears in her eyes, and barely took a breath.

"May," Peter whispered softly, his face crumpling. She sighed defeatedly, looking at Peter sadly.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." She said, shaking her head at herself. Peter looked at his feet, willing the tears wobbling in his eyes not to fall.

Then her arms were around him, and he leant into her shoulder, breathing in her flowery scent. He held the material of her blouse in his fingers, squeezing like it was a lifeline.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispered into her neck.

He knew how she felt. He felt it. Every night, when it was just a little bit darker, or someone next door moves around, or a bird lands in a tree nearby – everything scares him. The quietest, stupidest things, and he basically has a panic attack. He hated it.

At first, he had thought it was nothing. Of course he was worried – he'd just died, for Christ's sake. But even now, months after what had happened...it was only getting worse.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't concentrate in school. Every thought, feeling and emotion; everything came back to being tortured and killed in that damn warehouse, and-

"I'm sorry, May. I-" He let out a sob.

"Hey, shh. It's okay, Petey...it's okay." She soothed, rubbing his back. His throat was constricting, and he was finding it hard to breathe.

"Peter, just breathe, okay? I'm sorry, baby." May's voice was echoing around his head eerily and muted.

He could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears, and he was taking short gasps of air, and his lungs were surely failing and he was about to die-

"I'm sorry, honey, just look at me and breathe!"

God, why is she sorry?

He can't breathe. He can't see, and it terrified him. He was blind again and he was going to die like that, right here, right now, in front of May-

But then it wasn't May, and Toomes was leering over him with a sneer, and he was going to kill Peter, he was going to rip him apart, that was what he was saying as his shadow threw him into darkness and he screamed-

He screamed.

"Peter!" May shouted, and Toomes disappeared, as Peter fell to his knees.

"Baby, it's okay. Shh, shh." May herself knelt down, wrapping her arms around Peter, pushing his head into her chest.

He was shaking and taking huge gulps of air but he could breathe and that was all that mattered, and Toomes was gone and he could feel May's arms protectively around him. And he started crying.

He wasn't okay.

But a knock on the door interrupted him from their embrace, and Peter scrambled to his feet, wiping his eyes frantically. May gave him a sad smile, then walked through into the hall.

"Oh, hey buddy." May's voice said quietly to someone.

"Hi, Peter's here, right?" Ned replied, his voice quieter and more anxious than normal, and Peter suddenly remembered-

He had completely forgotten about Ned coming over, too.

He skidded to the door and threw himself onto Ned in a bone-crushing hug. His friend stumbled back a few paces, but didn't push Peter away, instead reciprocating the hug.

"Woah, hiya!" Ned exclaimed mockingly once Peter pulled away, but he had a wide grin on his face.

Peter dragged him to his room, and poor Ned barely had any time to acknowledge May, who had become like his second mom. Once he had shoved Ned inside his door, he shut it, and then the awkward silence started.

"So, you wanna tell me about what that whole thing with Flash was?" Ned asked, his voice delicate but his eyes were confused.

Confused, because this wasn't his best friend standing in front of him. His best friend was always kind, to whoever, no matter what. Never retaliated, and spent all of his spare time helping people, not hurting people.

"I-," Peter began, but-

What was it, really? Why had he risen to the bait?

"Are you mad?" Peter asked uncertainly.

As soon as he had said the words, his friend opened and closed his mouth, hesitantly, and Peter felt his heart sinking.

"Look, I'm not mad, but I still don't know why you hurt him. It's just not like you, Pete." Ned said, looking down.

"He insulted me, Ned. That's how most kids our age retaliate." Peter defended himself, but he knew he was wrong.

"And why do we have to be like most of the kids our age? You've never been like kids our age, Peter! What's changed? Do you want to be like someone like Flash?" Ned asked, suddenly angry.

"He insulted my parents, Ned!" Peter felt heat creeping up his neck. Why wouldn't Ned just understand.

"That doesn't matter, Peter!" Ned said desperately, raising his voice slightly, like he wanted Peter to understand some hidden message.

"They're my parents! What the hell do you mean they don't matter? Do you think that way about your parents?" Peter shouts, shaking his head bemusedly.

"You don't even remember your parents!" Ned yells, holding out his hand like it's obvious. Peter stares at him, frozen in shock and rage and he can feel his hands shaking, the remnants of the tears he had shed with May beginning to grow in his eyes again. Jesus, why was he so freaking emotional?

"You know why? Do you know why I don't remember my parents?" Peter asked Ned, who blinked at him. He held up a hand, pointing a finger at Ned's chest.

"Do you? Because they're dead. THEY'RE FREAKING DEAD!" Peter bellowed, and Ned took a step back, his face crumpling. But he didn't stop.

"AND YOU KNOW WHO ELSE IS DEAD? MY UNCLE! AND YOU KNOW WHO ELSE DIES, EVERY SINGLE TIME I CLOSE MY EYES AND IN MY NIGHTMARES? MAY!" The sound of clanging pots and dishes being scraped stopped suddenly from in the kitchen. But Peter still didn't. He's been harbouring it for way too long, and he fricking cared if he took it out on his best friend?

"And do you remember who else died?" Peter yelled, cold filling his stomach, at the sight of his friend's face crumpling. "I died. I fricking died. I left May by herself." He finished, his voice cracking.

Then he blinked.

And again.

Because Ned was crying. He had fricking brought his best friend to tears, for no reason. Just because he's too weak to deal with all his mess and problems himself. But, still, he didn't deserve everything that this stupid life has thrown at him.

Why did all of his family have to die? What had he done wrong? He didn't deserve all this pain, did he?

"I don't deser-" He started saying but paused.

Because, really, he did deserve it. He just screamed at his friend, he gets bullied at school, he killed his own uncle, he doesn't even have the courage to talk to girls, he's so weak he gets panic attacks at the stupidest and littlest of things, and he died. He died because he couldn't handle life.

"I deserved it all." He whispered, blinking as a tear slipped from between his closed eyelids.

"I'm sorry, Ned. I-I'm so sorry, Ned. I don't know why I yelled."

"No."

Peter looked up, and Ned was standing in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. He looked almost angry, but Peter knew he deserved whatever onslaught was coming.

"No, Peter, you didn't – you don't – deserve any of the pain you have been through in your life. But no one's perfect." His friend said, and Peter shook his head, screwing up his nose.

"No, seriously! You better listen to me, Parker. You better listen good. No one has been through what you have. I'm not gonna put it lightly, because everyone in your family have died apart from your aunt. But she loves you. She loves you so much. She'll never leave you alone. You're good enough for her. You're great." Ned grinned at Peter, who gave him a sort of half-smile back. God, he loved Ned. Still smiling after Peter nearly blew his head off. What a completely amazing, loving, caring, best-in-the-world jerk. What a jerk. Peter shook his head and laughed softly. He still might have a hard time believing that he's good enough, but at least someone thinks he is.

"Thanks, Ned. I'm sorry." Peter said softly, and went to hug his friend again, who stepped back.

"Na-ah! You smell terrible." Ned said, holding up his hands. Peter grinned, dragging a hand through his hair. "Go have a shower or something and get into pyjama's and we'll have a boys night where you can tell me all of your fascinating tales about the wonderful life of Spider-Man."

"Well, I got a new suit. It's called the 'Iron Spider' suit..." Peter said, quirking his eyebrow at his friend, who looked like he was going to explode with excitement, expanding like a balloon.

"AFTER YOUR SHOWER, YOU HORRIBLE CHILD!" He screeched.


	18. 17

Peter couldn't help but gulp when Michelle sat next to him during social sciences.

She usually sat by herself, head down and so focused on her own work that no one would dare bother her about it. So, when she sat next to Peter – who also sits by himself in social sciences because Ned's not in his class – he found himself a bit surprised.

He wasn't sure why, though, because they were friends, right? It wasn't weird to sit next to your friend. But he quickly figured out why she was sitting next to him.

"Okay, so I hacked into the school website to look at all of the lessons planned for this semester, and apparently we have to work in partners for our next project. Which we have to start today." She stated dryly, not looking at Peter once.

Peter nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows at his friend. She had her hair out today, and he found himself staring at the waves cascading over her high cheekbones in such an elegant-

No. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

"So..." Peter mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the girl next to him.

"So..." She replied, taking a deep breath. "I was going to go with you, but if you're gonna be an idiot and not take the hints then-"

"Oh, no, no, i-it's okay. That would be great...good. That would be good." Peter stuttered, his cheeks flaming red.

Michelle looked at him at that, eyebrows raised mockingly. Peter threw open his textbook and scribbled furiously as the teacher started writing notes on the chalkboard.

Once break came around, Peter was itching to get away from MJ. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt very warm.

"Hey, Ned, oh my God, that class was hell." Peter blurted out, once they had collected their trays from the canteen. Peter dropped his tray onto the nearest table, and Ned plopped his down next to Peter's.

"What? Why?" His friend asked curiously, as they sat across from each other. Peter backed-tracked immediately.

"Oh, I mean, social sciences. Not really my kind of subject." Peter mumbled, picking at his nails.

"Ah, yeah. For sure." Ned nodded in agreement.

A few meters away, Michelle sat down at a table by herself. Peter ignored the impulse to move and sit next to her. Ned didn't seem to notice where Peter's gaze now settled.

"...anything more about, you know, him?" Ned asked from somewhere in the back of Peter's mind.

"Um, what?" Peter asked guiltily, snapping back to attention.

"Have you heard anything more about-about Toomes and his gang?" Ned asked again, his voice low and quiet, sounding slightly confused, and worried about Peter's reaction to the mention of Toomes.

Peter bit down the fear that grew in his stomach.

"Um, no. Uh, Mr Stark's still tracking them, but-uh...yeah, nothing yet." He squeezed his lips together. God, what if-?

"Do you reckon he might of-he might've, uh, told anyone?"

Peter sighed, rubbing his face wearily.

"I dunno, Ned." He murmured, fighting down the tightness in his throat. Maybe there was still a small, small glimmer of hope at the end of the dark tunnel. Maybe he hadn't. And maybe he won't before he's thrown in jail.

"Doesn't that scare you-?"

"Yes, Ned." Peter squeaked exasperatedly.

A few tables away, Michelle cast the two a strange look, sitting straighter in her chair. Peter swore to himself. Had he been too loud? Ned was looking guilty.

"Sorry, Ned, I didn't mean to-to shout. It just...it just escapes." Peter looked deeply into Ned's eyes. There was something his friend was hiding in his kind gaze. Something behind all the layers of trust and reliance and awe and pride and worry for his friend and love...something that Peter couldn't quite place, but it nagged at him, constantly. He just wished Ned would say something, anything.

And for the rest of lunch, Michelle Jones sketched Peter. Later, she told herself that it was because she was bored, and he was having a crisis, but...for some reason, she found the drawing pinned to her wall, just above her desk in her bedroom. Right next to the photos of her family.

...

"How does one break?"

"Pain...death, even?"

"No, no, no...how does one break?"

"Well, um, sir, I-?"

"Maybe, maybe it's not about physical pain. Maybe it's about emotional pain. Mental torture."

"Like, get him depressed? Or make him have anxiety?"

"Oh, no, I think we've already achieved that."

"Then what?"

"Hurt the people he loves, make him think it's his fault."

"How do we know who he loves? He doesn't have family."

"Oh, he does. He still has his aunt. And his friends."

"That's pretty weak."

"He also has his Tony Stark."

"Oh..."

"A death as big as Stark's would be all over the media. And killed none other than the one he called his 'son'. Can you imagine?"

"He would just go to jail. No big deal. He would know he didn't kill Stark. He's a smart kid."

"Yes, but Stark would be dead. Like I said before, we've already achieved depression, anxiety...being accused of murder – after a few months, he'll believe it."

"Then what?"

"Oh, nothing. He'll rot away in that cell. And while he does, we'll finish off everyone else."

"Then...?"

"Well, when he's released, he'll find out everyone he's ever loved is dead and gone. Not much more to it."

"So that's it? Just guilt-trip him?"

"Eventually he'll give up. Eventually he'll take the easy way out. Then we can make our dealings in peace."

"It's a prolonged process, though, isn't it? Do we have that much time?"

"I'm old and retired. I got all the time in the world."

"One last thing – who else knows?"

Silence.

"No one. Just you and me, buddy. And I intend to keep it that way. Unless, of course, he interferes again, then we'll kill him."

...

"You ready?"

Peter sat on the edge of the building, his body itching to to swing through the city again. Ever since he'd woken up from his coma, he loved 'Spider-Manning'. Just wind in his eyes, and spectacular views of the Queens. Even just getting back to helping people out...he felt like he was home. And he was always too busy to be worrying about PTSD or some crap.

"Yup. Hit it." Peter said lowly, a small grin creeping onto his face from beneath the mask.

"Initiating 'Spidey Grooves' on Spotify." Cam Karen's voice from within his suit, and he heard Ned laugh from through the intercom. 'Underdog' by Spoon started playing.

"'Spidey Grooves'? Really? Mr Stark's really rubbing off on you." His friend couldn't contain his fits.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just tell me what you see." Peter huffed.

"Okay, well I've detected a few heat signatures coming from the seventh floor."

Peter began crawling up the side of the wall he was clinging to. He moved slowly, keeping his eyes narrowed on the glowing lights coming from the window many metres above him.

"How many is 'a few'?" He asked, sending Droney to the seventh-floor window.

"Six." Ned replied, his voice solemn. 'Business Mode' as he liked to call it. "Oh wait, two seem to be moving to the stairwell."

"Which way?" Peter asked shortly, pausing next to the sixth-floor window. He peeked a look inside, but it was empty.

"Up. Eighth-floor. You sure you're up for this?"

Peter let out an annoyed 'mm-hm' in reply. In other words; no. He had no idea how he would react to seeing Toomes again.

"I still think you should've worn the Iron Spider suit."

"Shut up, Ned. I can't focus." Peter snapped, and Ned muttered a quick sorry. Peter sighed, guilt in his gut. He always snapped.

He focused his eyes on the small square of footage, that was imputed by his spider-drone. It was zooming in through the seventh-floor window, and Peter spotted three men and one woman standing in a tight circle, around a table. Droney moved closer to the window, and now Peter could make out a black case, laying open on the tabletop.

"What's in it, Karen?" Peter asked his AI. Ned wouldn't know any more than Peter could, but Karen could scan it.

"I'm detecting alien technology and a sharp artefact. Unidentified. There also seems to be some files, with personal information about multiple persons." Karen listed, her voice as professional as ever.

"Thanks. What's the info on?"

"I cannot tell. Might I suggest-?"

"Yeah, no. You can't suggest, I'm going in."

"Wait, Peter? Who're you attacking first?" Ned whispered.

"Toomes and someone else is upstairs. I'm going to them first. And, Ned? You don't need to be quiet, only me and Karen can hear you." Peter crawled the next two levels.

"Y-yeah, right. 'Course."

Crawling to the top of the eighth-floor window, Peter leant upside-down over the top of it, so just his head was in view. His eyes flitted momentarily to Droney's camera, but no one else seemed to be moving around.

Then he squinted against the light flooding through the window and saw the back of a tall man in a black suit. His hair was grey and balding, and his skin was fair. He was standing next to another man.

And Peter's heart skipped a beat-

Cos-

Maybe it was worse than seeing Toomes himself.

Sure, the coldness in his chest was hurting, just at the sight of the villain's back-

But-

But-

Him?

Peter cold barely breathe.

"K-Karen...Karen." He wheezed, and he instantly heard Ned's frantic voice through the intercom.

"What is it? Peter are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Karen...you gotta-you gotta tell Mr Stark. T-tell him-," Peter stuttered, and had to catch himself from slipping in the shock coursing through his veins in the form of adrenaline.

"What would you like me to tell him?" Karen asked innocently.

Peter paused.

What would he say? How do you tell someone that his-?

No.

"Forget it. I'll deal with it myself." Peter murmured.

What else was he supposed to do?

Ignoring Ned's questions, Peter shot a web at he brick wall he was hanging onto, and leant away from the building, his hands clamped tightly around the silk. Then his feet from the wall, too, with as much thrust as he could manage.

 

And he hit the target.

The glass imploded around his feet with a loud shatter and both people in the room froze, their talking ceased.

Peter landed with a bit of a skid, right in the middle of the room. Thankfully none of the glass had been embedded in his suit. But he immediately hunched down, ready to spring if an attack were to come. His mechanic eyes narrowed at the shocked look on the mans face, as he and Toomes spun around.

But neither of them jumped into action. In fact, Toomes smiled.

And Peter shivered.

"Ah, Pedro. Thought you'd be back." Toomes sighed light-heartedly, and opened his arms, as if in welcome.

Peter couldn't find any words. His throat was constricted.

"Huh," Toomes whispered, staring Peter up and down as the kid lifted up his arm threateningly. The older man folded his arms, raising his eyebrows.

Peter wanted to scream and leap at him and rip his head off – in the nicest way possible – but he couldn't. He was glued to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak.

Goddamn PTSD, he thought bitterly to himself. Goddamn everything.

"Now, whatdya want, Pete?" Toomes asked, while that damn traitor next to him walked backward a few steps, never taking his eyes off of Spider-Man.

"Why?" Peter finally croaked. Definitely not what he was supposed to say, but that was all that left his mouth. His body actually hurt.

Toomes let out a small huff of laughter. Peter couldn't help but notice the slight confusion, possibly even fear in his eyes.

"Why? Why what? Use English, boy." Toomes snarled.

"Why'd you do this?" Peter asked, but his question wasn't directed at Toomes. His gaze settled on the other man, who seemed to be slowly edging toward the stairwell. The man froze, when Peter stood up, advancing on him.

"It's of no concern to you, kid."

Peter scoffed.

Then he leapt at him, his body slamming into the man's full-force. They fell back against the floor, Peter shoving him hard against the wooden floorboards, one hand tight around his neck.

"WHY'RE YOU DOING THS?" Peter bellowed, and the man beneath him winced, gasping for breath.

"You-you haven't...seen...the things I h-have." He rasped, hands clawing at Peter's grip.

"What things? You've betrayed Mr Stark!" Peter screamed, pushing him further into the floor.

"I'm running...wh-while I still can." He whispered, his face slowly turning purple.

"And you should t-too."


	19. 18

"Peter you gotta get outta there!"

Peter let out a yell, as he flung himself at Bad Guy 1, who had come running up the stairs at the sound of Peter's scream. He landed in the middle of his chest by his knees, slamming him into the wall behind him hard enough to create a dent.

He slumped, unconscious.

The other three were up the floor, now. Bad Girl swung a fist at Peter, but he dove under it easily. She growled in frustration, and threw herself at Peter, who leapt to the ceiling just in time.

But then Bag Guy 3 was jumping into the air and grabbing his leg. He felt his sockets jolt as the huge man hung from his limb relentlessly. Peter could hear the blood rushing to his head.

"Ugh!" He let himself drop to the floor again, landing on top of Bad Guy 3. He threw a fist into his face, and the man screamed, blood dripping from his nose.

Peter wanted to keep hitting, but he restrained himself.

Leaping up from on top of the man, he resumed his fighting position. Bad Girl screamed in an inhumane, animalistic way, and swipe-kicked Peter's legs out from under him. He fell to the floor again with a quick 'oof', his tailbone feeling bruised.

"Get him!" Toomes' voice yelled over the thumps of the fight. It sent a chill down Peter's spine, but he ignored it best he could, scrambling back to his feet.

He spun around, his Spidey-Senses blaring, and swung out an arm automatically as Bad Guy 4 aimed a hit at his back. His forearm connected with the side of his head, and the man fell back down the stairs.

"No!" Came Toomes' voice, laced in annoyance.

Bad Girl lunged at him once again, and Peter had to leap over...leap over his darn traitorous body to avoid getting hit. But she was relentless, and only jumped after him.

And when she swung again, her aim was true.

Peter dropped to the floor, pain coursing through his head and black dots dancing in his vision. Damn, she had a swing. But. Still, he wasted no time in jumping straight back up again.

This time he was the one to attack. He jumped to the roof, crawling too fast for her to keep up to just above Toomes. The man panicked, quite obviously thinking Peter was going in for the attack on him, but-

He shot a web at the ceiling, the dropped, manoeuvring his body so he landed right behind Bag Girl's back. She was still processing what had just happened when he snuck an arm around her neck and pulled her around so both of them faced Toomes.

"Give up!" Peter yelled. Toomes looked shocked for a moment, but then he composed himself and smiled that goddamn smile. "Hand yourself over! I've got you!" Peter yelled again.

"Do you?" Toomes replied, raising his eyebrows. It was one of those rhetorical questions that mad your heart skip a beat, but the tone in which he said it made everything a lot worse. Who finds humour in a situation like this?

Bad Girl kicked out in his arms, but he only tightened his grip.

"Yes!" Peter yelled, confused. He had no idea what to say. "Give up, or-or I'll kill her!" Peter was shocked at his own words.

"Adrian?" Bad Girl choked out, hands clasped tightly around Peter's arm around her neck. She seemed scared – if only she knew Peter wasn't brave enough to actually kill her. It was bravery, right?

 

"Go on, then. Kill her." Toomes' eyes drilled into Peter, who couldn't help a bit but cower. It was like he was challenging him to do it. To just take her life.

Maybe-

"I can ring Tony Stark before you can run, so I suggest you surrender. In case you forgot, he's pretty good friends with the Avengers-,"

"Go on, then. Call him." Toomes' smirked, folding his arms together. Peter hesitated. Why the hell-? "Just tell me what you want, Pedro."

Peter shook his head, bemused. "I want you to hand yourself over!" He repeated exasperatedly.

"Really?" Toomes said in surprise, like it was the first he'd hear of it. Peter scrunched up his nose. "I don't think that's true. I think there's something more to it. So, what do you want?"

Peter looked away from those grey eyes. His heart was beating against his ribcage, he could feel it. It hurt. Perspiration was slowly tracking its way down Peter's forehead, underneath the mask. Sometimes he felt like he thought out loud. How else would he know that Peter hadn't come to arrest him? Or, just to arrest him?

He turned his gaze back to Toomes, after a few deep breaths. This time, he stared into those eyes with the same intensity those eyes were glaring back at him. He regained his composure and removed his arm from around Bad Girl's neck. She scrambled back across the floor.

"You killed me." He stated simply, his voice dangerously quiet.

This time, it was Toomes' turn to not know what to say. Peter watched with some satisfaction, as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

"I-yes. I know-I-?" He stuttered, and the teenager could tell he was cursing himself silently. It's what Peter did when he made a fool of himself.

"Why?"

Toomes didn't reply.

"Did it make you feel better?"

Still no reply.

"Do you think Liz would be proud?"

Peter had hit a soft spot, quite obviously, because Toomes was advancing on him, his finger pointed at Peter's suited chest threateningly.

"I would do anything for my girls!" He yelled, spit flying.

"Even if it means kidnapping and torturing one of her friends? What had I even done? Saved people from dying, I'm sorry!" Peter fought back but stumbled back a few steps away from the Vulture. The villain also stopped.

"You interfered with my business."

Peter didn't reply, just stared at him coldly.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Toomes asked.

"Tracked you through surveillance. Saw you register at this apartment. Waited 'till the perfect opportunity, with the buyers, sellers and products all in the same place." Peter growled.

"Smart boy." Toomes grinned at him – though it wasn't a happy grin, it was a 'I hate you' sort of grin.

"So, surrender or I'm just gonna get the Avengers and they can deal with you." Peter said.

"Aren't I little below their pay-grade?"

"Yeah, that's what Mr Stark says. They usually don't waste their time with people like you."

Toomes let out a half-offended half-amused scoff.

"Okay, Karen, call Mr Stark. Please." He added.

"Dialling; Tony Stark." Karen replied warmly.

"Oh, finally! I was wondering how long it was gonna take you. How you doing, though? You hurt anywhere?" Ned's voice rattled through the intercoms. Peter rolled his eyes.

"No, Ned. Shut up."

"Kid?" Mr Stark's voice piped in, after a short beep. Peter sighed with relief.

"Oh, Mr Stark. Thank God you picked up! Um, I found Vulture-dude and he's not really cooperating, so I was hoping-?"

"I don't mean to be uncaring or anything, but I'm sort of busy at the moment, kid." Tony interrupted, and Peter realised how strained his voice was.

"Wh-what?" Peter stuttered and out the corner of his eyes, he saw Toomes smirk. He heard a whirring through the suit. "Wait, are you in your suit?"

"Yeah. Uh," Grunt. "I'll try to get to you as soon as possible, kid, but I might be an hour or so, depending on how fast we can," Another angry yell, "uh, finish up here."

"Mr Stark? What's going on?" Peter semi-yelled in confusion.

"Just a bit of a disturbance-thing at the Tower, nothing to worry about, reall-!" He heard a pained cry and it sounded like...it sounded like Shuri. There was a frightened cry of 'no!' from Mr Stark and a bang.

"Oh, it is something to worry about, Pedro." Toomes chimed in. Peter froze in fear.

"What have you done?" He whispered, then to Mr Stark; "Wait-I'm coming, Toomes can wait, I'm coming!" Peter shouted, already shooting a web at the Vulture, flattening him against the wall. He shot another one, just to be sure he stayed.

"No, Underoos. Just stay there, we'll be fi-!" The line cut off with a cold beep.

And Peter wasted no second in webbing up all six criminals and swinging out of the window.

 

And he was just a few blocks down from the Avengers Tower, when he saw what was wrong.

The top six floors were emblazed with white fire, gleaming eerily in the dark of night. Peter nearly slipped from his web at the sight, and only pushed himself to go faster, his shoulders aching.

Sooner before later, he was scaling the building as fast as his limbs would take him, dodging the parts that were crackling with flames. He found himself smashing through glass for the second time that night, once again landing with skid in the thirteenth floor – he presumed.

"Mr Stark? Mr Stark!" He screamed, his voice muffled from beneath the mask. It was hard to see around, the smoke was thick and black, but from the scans Karen was doing, Peter could see multiple heat signatures – even against the heat of the fire. Mr Stark really did outdo himself.

"Mr Stark!" Peter called again when no one replied.

He sprinted further into the room, that was the size of three of his houses in itself. Through the smoke, he could just make out two black shapes. He ran toward them, heaving out a cough.

Then a shot of fire blazed towards him. He dropped to the floor in surprise and – thanks to his Spidey-Senses – only his hair was singed by the blast.

"No, Mr Stark! It's just me!" Peter yelled, scrambling back to his feet. He could see Iron Man now and he semi-collapsed at the billionaire's feet, heaving in breaths, a stitch in his side.

"Kid, why are you here? I told you to stay!" Tony yelled, and Peter could tell her was mad. Peter didn't care.

"What's going on?!" Peter yelled in reply, disregarding Mr Stark's outburst.

"No idea. We came back to this." Came Nat's calm and collected voice from behind Mr Stark's bulky suit. She stepped into view, flashing Peter a quick smile. How was she so calm?

"I'm going down to help the other, now that Peter's here." She told Tony, who nodded frantically, still staring angrily at Peter. She flipped down the stairs in style.

"Where's Shuri? Is she okay?" Peter shouted in concern over the crackle of the fire.

"She's unconscious but her vitals are stable." Mr Stark replied. "I already flew her down to the lobby – T'Challa's with her."

Peter sighed in relief. His chest was constricting.

"Kid, you gotta get outta here, okay? At least I can breathe in this suit." Mr Stark yelled, but Peter shook his head adamantly.

"No! I can help! Is there anyone who-?" Peter fell into a coughing fit, so violent he felt like he had gotten his asthma back. His eyes were watering, and his throat was ripped raw by the smoke and it had all escalated so quickly and he was sinking to his knees, hands scrabbling at his chest as he tried to take in one damn breath-

And then Mr Stark ejected himself from his suit, and leaping to the floor, fear written in the lines of his face-

"Kid, you gotta go! Even Spidey can't breathe in this much smoke!"

But he was now breathing in the smoke-

And Peter wasn't breathing anything-

Mr Stark's hands were on his shoulders-

And he was yelling things at him, but he couldn't hear-

And it was so hot-

And Tony was still yelling-

And Peter couldn't breathe-

 

His eyes were watering-

And he was stupid-

But then-

But-

He felt it first-

A sharp pang at the back of his head-

Like someone had just thrown something at him-

And he knew, immediately-

Something bad was gonna happen-

And he screamed through the haze-

Mr Stark froze, worried-

But he had to run-

From what, he didn't know-

But something bad was gonna happen-

Someone was gonna die-

He could feel it-

He could see Tony begin to cough-

Then there was a flash-

So, so bright, Peter was blinded for a moment-

The fire seemed to burst in on itself-

Then back out, billowing across the room quickly-

The smoke pulsed-

Then the sound hit-

An excruciatingly loud whoosh-CRACK-

He was shoved to the floor-

A body covered his protectively-

Then-

The room exploded.

And everything fell into darkness.


	20. 19

Tony Stark had always been Peter Parker's hero.

The teen had watched him on the news, when he was only young, just having escaped Afghanistan. The billionaire had just announced that he won't be selling or manufacturing weapons anymore. That was when he became Peter's idol.

Not when he revealed that he was Iron Man. Sure, being Iron Man was a bonus – with a much higher pay-grade – but Peter still only ever wanted to see the Tony Stark.

Then, when he heard that the Expo was happening, he had begged his aunt and uncle to take him. They had agreed almost immediately, not having seen Peter so excited since after his parents died.

He had nearly fainted when Tony had given him a noogie, while he was walking out of the theatre, after presenting the Expo.

But days later, he had received the fright of his life. Those Hammer Drones were trying to kill Mr Stark and Peter wanted to help. So, he had shoved on his Iron Man suit, "blaster-thingy's" – as he like to call it – and all. But he hadn't expected any of those Drones to actually mistake him for the really thing.

But then Tony Stark had swooped in a saved him.

Never will he ever forget his words, as he flew away:

"Nice work, kid."

Then suddenly he was bitten by some radioactive spider, had crazy abilities and senses that was completely inhumane, he was creating his own suit, he was saving people-

His uncle was dying-

Then he was being recruited by this same Tony Stark, of whom he had looked up to for years and years, who had no idea about their meeting seven years ago.

Then he was fighting alongside his hero, with a new suit and a new purpose. And that hole that was left behind when Ben had died was slowly patching up.

Then it was re-opened when he messed up. His suit was taken away, and all he wanted to was to prove himself. So, he did. And things began to get better again.

Then he was kidnapped, and he literally died.

But Tony Stark brought him back to life, so maybe he did care. Because he was there for him. He brought him back.

And from that point onward...that whole was patched up. He had made a father out of Tony Stark. And Tony had made a son out of him. Of course, Peter's life wasn't perfect. He wasn't happy, but then again, neither was Mr Stark. But he knew what Peter went through – he went through it himself – and he didn't try to sugar-coat it. God, Peter hated it when people tried to make him feel better. Sometimes he just needed someone to understand. And Tony gave him that.

So, when that bomb went off...

He felt like his entire world was ripped in two.

How much more did Peter have to lose?

How much more did he have to go through before the damn devil was satisfied?

How much more broken did he have to be, for someone to help?

After he had been and gone from the Avenger's hospital clinic, he had stumbled back home in shock. He had lain in bed for hours, just staring back up at the ceiling.

Then May had gotten home and all he had done was smile and give her a warm hug. He hadn't touched his dinner at all. He felt too sick to eat anything.

So, he had gone back to bed. And it was a long time before sleep snuck up on him, but he woke up every half hour or so, screaming and screaming and screaming. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw...he saw his failure.

He saw that he didn't save Mr Stark. He could've protected him. Instead, suit-less Mr Stark used himself as a human-shield to protect Peter!

Ned had called him three times. Peter hadn't answered. He didn't think he could bring himself to talk to his best friend, so carelessly and happy like there was no damn thing wrong in his life, like he did around Aunt May.

But by the fourth time his phone rang, he was over it.

He slapped a hand over it, dragging it to his ear as he lay on top of his sheets. His finger tapped the 'answer' button, with a reluctant sigh.

"Hey, Ned." He tried to say cheerily, but his voice cracked and was way too quiet than he intended.

"Are you high?"

Oh crap.

Oh crappedy-crap-crap-crap. Crap.

That wasn't Ned.

"Uh, Michelle! Hi, um, I thought you were N-Ned." He squeaked, his face reddening despite the fact that MJ couldn't see him.

"Yeah, that was pretty obvious when you called me Ned, loser." She droned through the phone. Peter had half the mind to hang up there and then. As much as he loved it – liked, as much as he liked it – he wasn't too sure if he could handle Michelle's dry sense of humour right now.

"Um, did you-did you want anything?" Peter asked, his voice back to normal pitch, but still abnormally quiet.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" The reply was in her same monotone voice with so little care in it, but...if she didn't care, then she wouldn't have asked, right?

"N-nothing!" Peter replied quickly. There was a short and very silent-silence, where MJ seemed to be thinking.

"Okay, sure." She said at last, sounding very sceptical and not even trying to hide it. "Anyway, that social sciences project? I was thinking we should get started, I don't wanna fail." She stated, but there was something different about the way she talked. There was no sarcasm and her tone was softer than normal. Like she knew something wasn't right. She was observant like that.

"I-I don't see why not." Peter's voice broke again at 'not'. Surprisingly, Michelle made no comment about it. "So, I'll ask May if you can come to mine, or-or I can go to yours, it doesn't really matter, I guess..."

"Stop drooling, Parker. I'll come to you...don't want you being out in the dark all by your lonesome."

"Yeah, thanks." Peter hummed, sending a virtual eye-roll, which he was sure MJ would receive.

"Be there in five." Then she hung up.

And he was racing around his room, because he only had five minutes to make his messy-as-hell room to look even a little bit hospitable and habited. And even if for a minute, his mind was distracted from Mr Stark.

When the bell rung, he found himself sprinting down the hall, nearly bowling over May in the process. He opened the door himself, his hair completely dishevelled.

Michelle stared back at him, eyebrows raised inconspicuously.

"Hi." Peter breathed. And a wash of emotion washed over him, so strong and sudden and unwanted that he nearly fell to floor. Because why should he be excited? He should be mourning and grieving and crying and screaming, not being happy to see a girl who doesn't even reciprocate his feelings.

"Hi." Michelle replied, but didn't even break into her signature smirk. She just breathed it out, as if out of breath, like Peter had. Maybe she had run up the stairs.

"And who's this-? Oh, Michelle dear, it's wonderful to see you again!" May came trotting around the corner, giving MJ a wide smile of greeting. Michelle waved a little awkwardly but smiled.

"Hey, Mrs Parker."

"Oh, no, no, no, that makes me sound old. Just May's fine." Peter's Aunt laughed, and Michelle nodded.

"Okay, May." She smiled. So did May. Peter stood there somewhat awkwardly.

"Anyway," He interrupted pointedly, "Michelle and I are just gonna go to my room to do some homework!" And only as it was out of his mouth, did he realise how weird it sounded.

"Um, Peter honey, I'm not sure if that's appropriate." May said. He widened his eyes at her innocently.

"Yeah, Parker." MJ chimed in, grinning at Peter.

"May! It's not like that!" He exclaimed, hands in the air.

Michelle was silent next to him.

"Okay...fine. But remember the rule?" May said reluctantly, a smirk creeping onto her face. "'Five metres stops the creepers'!"

"May!" Peter gasped, his eyes wide with horror.

"Just kidding, dear. Go have fun. In a non-sexual way."

Peter didn't reply, just slapped a hand to his forehead. Then he was walking down the hall, glaring at May as he passed. MJ followed closely behind. Once he got to his bedroom, he opened the door, letting Michelle in first.

He didn't close it after them. He knew May would have a freak-out if he did. He'd never hear the end of it.

"Okay, so I was thinking, if I did all the planning and that, then maybe you could do the-?" Peter began, already sitting down at his small desk.

"No. We're going to start off by you telling me what the hell is going on with you."

Peter spun around to stare at MJ. She was sitting on his bed, and Peter expected her to be glaring. But no, she was gazing at him with the softest expression he had ever seen on her. It was so strange, but Peter couldn't look away.

"Why is it, whenever I try to have one normal day in my life, it always ends up like this?" Peter grumbled, tapping his finger against his knee subconsciously.

"You don't have to hide these things from me, you know. Aren't I your friend too?"

Oh God, this was a trap, this was a trap-

"Y-yeah, of course you are, but I-uh-haven't-!"

"You haven't told Ned anything, either, have you?"

Peter shook his head guiltily.

"I bet you haven't told anyone." Michelle mumbled. Peter shook his head again, finally tearing his gaze away from MJ's eyes.

"Peter?"

Never had Michelle ever called him 'Peter'. Never had she ever used that tone before. Peter's eyes snapped back to hers.

"When you were in hospital..." She seemed to be struggling for something to say, for the first time since Peter's known her. "I stayed with you, every single minute of every single hour. You were in a coma for weeks, and you might not have even woken up for years. That's what the doctor said."

Peter was silent, and Michelle continued, never losing that eye-contact. It should be uncomfortable, but it was quite the opposite.

"I thought I'd lost you. But, somehow, May always seemed to have hope that you'd come back to us sooner. I didn't understand it then, but I think I do now." Michelle seemed shocked at her own words coming out of her mouth, let alone Peter, but Peter didn't mind. The only other time he'd seen this side of MJ was when he'd woken up in the hospital bed. But they hadn't even acknowledged that that had happened.

"You're Spider-Man." Michelle said simply. It wasn't a question.

"I am." Peter replied simply.

There was no need for an explanation. There was no need for condolences or arguments. There was no need to deny it. She'd known it for a while, he'd known she knew it for a while, what more was there to it?

Michelle nodded, not looking surprised at all. Peter hadn't expected her to.

"And...May knows, Ned does too. Anyone else, apart from the Avengers?"

"No."

Another loud silence.

"What happened in the hospital...well, I meant what I said. If you even heard it."

"I heard everything."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Michelle-?"

"My...my little sister," She cut across him smoothly, turning to rummage in her bag, "she loves Spider-Man. You're her hero."

She pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to Peter.

Peter's heart overflowed with emotion of all sorts.

It was a childish but pretty skilled drawing of Spider-Man, standing in between two girls with his thumbs up. The one to Spider-Man's right was tall with black curly hair, which Peter instantly recognised as Michelle – she was frowning – and the other one was smaller, but almost exactly the same-looking. Peter presumed that was Michelle's sister. She was grinning.

He was about to say something when he noticed, high up in the clouds, a little red and gold suit.

His heart broke.

"Michelle, this is...this is..." He couldn't find the right words, and he was gulping down sobs as they came, his chest hitching quite obviously.

"Peter. Peter, what's going on?"

Peter gripped the sides of the chair in tight fists, so hard his knuckles turned white. He wasn't going to cry, again, because he still had a strip of dignity left. He wasn't going to cry.

Then MJ was getting up from his bed and moving to where Peter sat. She bobbed down in front of him, prying his hands away from the chair, where ten nail marks had punctured the material. But even once they weren't gripping the chair, she didn't let go.

She held his hands in her own, just like she had at the hospital.

"I...I couldn't save him." Peter whispered, eyes transfixed on their entwined hands.

"Who?" MJ asked gently.

"Mr...Mr Stark. I couldn't-I couldn't..." He trailed off, taking two steady breaths. He still wasn't going to cry.

"What happened?" She asked. No comforting, no crying for him, no pity. That's what Peter wanted.

"I...tried to help him. There was an attack on the tower...explosions a-and fire and all that-that stuff. I thought I could help him but I started having some stupid panic attack and the smoke was really thick and I could barely breathe and it was terrifying and-!" He took another breath, and he felt Michelle's hands squeeze tighter around his, steadying them.

"He tried to help me. He got out of his suit, trying to make me snap out of it. And then my senses started blaring but I was too out of breath to do anything."

"The world just sort of slowed and when the-the explosion happened...he was on top of me, pro-protecting me, and...and I did nothing."

He looked Michelle dead in the eye, the will to scream and cry gone almost instantly.

"I failed him. He put so much trust in me and I failed him." Peter whispered, shaking his head.

Michelle nodded her head. Peter was confused at first, unsure of what she meant. Did she think he'd failed Tony? He almost hoped she did. At least she wasn't trying to comfort him yet.

"I...I think everyone fails." She mumbled, her eyes falling to their tangled hands, as she twisted hers under his. She looped a finger through his, glaring at her own hand as if it was betraying her. Maybe it was.

But Peter was listening intently.

"I don't think that's the question." She continued, looking back at Peter. "I think the question is if we have another go."

You know when you listen to your favourite song, right at that perfect moment? Or when, in movies, two people kiss, and it just feels so right? You know those tingles you get on your neck and arms, like goose-bumps rising? That's what Peter had, right now.

He had been told so many times to have another go. To just persevere. But coming from Michelle Jones...it was different. She knew what she was talking about, she understood. Her voice was soft and understanding but not pitying, like so many others. She was upset, because she knew what he was going through. Peter knew her parents were divorced, and she'd lost her aunt, uncle and two baby cousins to a fire years ago. She'd suffered the pain and sorrow of personal loss.

Peter smiled, and it felt so foreign.

"You're actually being...kind. Like, you're showing your emotions." Peter stated in mock awe, not forgetting that they still had their hands pressed together.

"Don't make me regret it, Parker. Sometimes it physically pains me to hold back my sarcastic remarks." She smiled. She didn't smirk or grin...she smiled. Sweet and kind. So unlike her, but so like her at the same time. Nothing made sense to Peter right now.

"Thanks." Peter whispered, smiling back, his eyes fogging up. But the tears wobbling in his eyes were those of gratitude and awe, and not of fear or sadness. For once.

And he barely realised that she was pulling him into a hug, because it didn't feel wrong or out of place. He just leant into her embrace, finally pulling out of their entwined hands to wrap his arms around her. He felt her grip his shirt at his back and all he did was bury his nose into her shoulder, shutting his eyes tight.

It was just a hug. Nothing more. All unspoken words were shared as they hung onto each other.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, when a sound like a fire alarm blared through the silence.

Peter broke away from their embrace and Michelle watched in curiosity as he reached for his phone. He squinted at the caller ID, Michelle looking over his shoulder. His heart jumped into his mouth, when he read it.

"Queen's Memorial Hospital".


	21. 20

May had never driven so fast.

Peter had come screaming down from his bedroom into the kitchen, Michelle in tow. His face was alight with excitement and delight and everything nice, Michelle was smiling.

"What? What?" She had repeated when neither answered.

"We gotta get to the hospital. Like, now." His smiled grew even brighter, if that was even possible.

"Why? What's-" Peter was dragging her from her seat on the couch by her arm, "going on?" She directed the question at MJ.

"Peter will explain in the car, I'm sure." Michelle rolled her eyes, as Peter practically bounced down the hallway that lead to the front door.

"Woah, woah, woah, let me gather my bearings!" May protested.

"Your car keys, you mean?" Peter replied, biting his lip in anticipation and impatience.

Once she had retrieved her things, still completely unaware of anything that was happening, Peter ushered them all into the car, Michelle included.

"Shouldn't we drop Michelle off at her house, first-?"

"Nope. Just drive." Peter interrupted, and Michelle cast May a quick nod of approval.

They arrived at the hospital in record time.

Peter walked as fast as he could through the lobby to the front desk, May hurrying along behind and Michelle stopping to read a few signs absently. Maybe it was the public that made her shut off a bit. Peter wasn't sure, but he couldn't focus on that now.

"Um, hi? I'm-" Peter began, smiling innocently at the desk-lady, who looked through her half-moon glasses at him.

"Mr Parker?"

Peter nodded. "That's right."

"Follow me, sir." She replied, breaking into a smile. The sort of smile pre-school teachers wore when giving out stickers to all the good little five-year-old's. Huh, maybe that's saying something.

"O-okay." Peter mumbled, as he nearly tripped over his own feet in haste. May caught up and wrapped an arm through Peter's to steady him.

"What room?" She whispered to Peter.

"I dunno, that's why we're following the lady!" Peter exclaimed, still not able to wipe the smile off his face.

They went to the top floor in the escalator – no surprises there – and turned into a corridor labelled 'Private Clinic'. In other words; 'Expensive Rooms'. There were lots of windows up here and Peter must admit that the view was incredible.

The walked all the way down, to the last door.

Number 1.

"Now, I must ask that only Mr Parker enters. I don't want to overcrowd the room." The desk-lady stated, and May nodded.

Then she opened the door, and Peter stepped in.

He could already feel the smile freezing on his face, as his eyes took it all in. All other noises, including that of the heart monitor, beating away steadily, seemed to drown out into one long whoosh. His eyes were trained on the body in the bed, everything else was blurry and non-existent.

"Mr Stark?" He whispered.

He staggered to the bedside, collapsing into the mahogany chair that was placed there. Without even thinking, he swept up Tony's hand, being careful not to disturb the IV.

"Mr Stark?" He repeated.

The billionaire's eyelids were fluttering, just like the nurse had said when she had phoned Peter. That was always the first signs of consciousness. She had called him as soon as she had spotted it. So, they were still fluttering, like he was fighting desperately to come back.

It hurt him to see his hero like this. So broken and vulnerable, lying in a damn hospital bed. Of course, it was probably the world's best hospital bed, but it was a hospital bed all the same.

"You gonna wake up for me, or what?" Peter asked.

The eyelids stopped flickering, just for a moment. Peter grinned.

"When I was in my coma, I could hear every single world Michelle and May said. So I reckon you can hear me." Peter sighed. He rested his head on the side of the bed, staring at the heart monitor longingly.

"You know, I know what you said when you found me in the warehouse." Peter continued, "I remember you saying that you were proud of me. I wanted to thank you, but I just never knew how to say it. I guess, it's easier now, when you can't sass back at me. So I'm probably gonna tell you know." Peter took a deep breath, readying himself dramatically.

"Thank you." He said confidently, noticing how the corners of Tony's mouth twitched.

"I thought you were dead, by the way. No one told me that you survived, otherwise I probably would've come earlier." Peter didn't really know what to say, but he had to talk. That's how Michelle got him back.

"You've always been my hero, you know. Not Iron Man. Well, I mean, Iron Man's awesome and all, but Tony Stark's way cooler. You're sort of like the...dad I never had? I don't know, is that weird? Probably."

"I also remember you saying something about saving that little boy from that evil Hammer Drone thing. That's funny. I thought you would've forgotten, it wasn't really that important, you know."

The heart monitor was beginning to beep a bit faster, ad Peter cast it a confused, slightly worried look.

"I have similar memory, maybe just from a different point of view." Peter whispered.

And that's when it happened.

It was just a quiet murmur, but Peter had excellent hearing.

"That wass'you?" Tony slurred, blinking open his eyes sleepily.

"Mr Stark!" Peter nearly squealed in delight.

'Woah, woah, le'ss be calm, now." Tony grinned.

Peter threw himself over Tony, squeezing himself into his mentor's chest. He was laughing and crying at the same time, which only increased as Tony weakly reciprocated the hug.

"I love you, kid." He whispered into Peter's shoulder. Peter laughed, wiping his eyes as he pulled away.

"I think you're a bit loopy, Mr Stark." Peter grinned, but his heart was nearly exploding with joy.

"But I love you too. Even with only one arm."

"Jesus, kid, it's Tony. Tony."

...

Two Weeks Later...

...

"Thanks." Michelle said, smirking.

"No problem." Peter replied, giving her a knowing look. Every part of him wanted to hold her hand again. To be able to feel that connection again with her, but-

"Yeah, no problemo!" Ned called from directly behind Peter. Peter cringed internally.

"This was Peter's idea, not yours, Leeds." Michelle drawled, rolling her eyes as her two friends fist-pumped.

"No, I'm pretty sure it was your idea, Jones. And anyway, who would want to walk home all by their lonesome, when they can walk home with two of the coolest dudes in the galax-ay!" Ned screeched loudly, and a few passers-by turned to stare.

They stood outside MJ's front door. She was leaning against the flyer-wire, eyebrows raised in typical Michelle fashion. Peter was fiddling with his jacket zipper and Ned was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Ned, what is wrong with you?" Peter asked, turning to stare at his best friend, eyes wide.

"Coffee." Was all he said. Peter let out a bark of laughter.

"This is your doing." He said, his attention back on Michelle, of whom shrugged impassively.

"She gave me three!" Ned stated proudly. Peter gaped.

"You trying to kill him?" Peter asked Michelle jokingly.

"Nah, but he'll be going into shock in a few minutes." MJ reached for the handle and pulled open the door. Peter spluttered out an unamused laugh.

She gave them both one more of her signature looks, then stepped over the threshold. Peter stepped forward quickly, before he could stop himself, reaching out an arm.

She stopped walking when his fingers brushed across her forearm. She turned around, looking at him in surprise.

"Um...bye, MJ." Peter mumbled, looking down at his hand, as he pulled it back to his body, blushing deeply.

"I'll see you tomorrow, dork." Michelle said, bemused but quite obviously flattered.

No.

Peter nodded, stepping out of her house quickly. She smiled, and both were unable to tear their gazes away. Eventually, she shut the door, leaving Peter standing next to a hyper Ned, feeling like something had just snapped.

"Woah, okay, I think I need a nap, Peter." Ned exclaimed, pupil dilating. Peter grinned, leading him back down the street, one hand with a firm grip around Ned's arm.

"Your apartment is only, like, a two-minute walk away from here, right?" Peter asked once they reached the end of the street.

Ned nodded, and Peter checked the time on his watch briefly.

"Okay, well I'm gonna leave you here. Don't go on any roads, you'll probably die." Peter said, letting his friend go.

"Wait, where you-where you going?" Ned asked innocently.

"The tower." Peter replied, casting Ned a small – slightly sad – smile. Ned didn't notice the fear in his friend's eyes.

When he arrived at the Avenger's Compound, it was very silent, leaving him with an eerie feeling.

He took the elevator – after signing in at the front desk – to the penthouse floor. He counted each ding as the elevator reached another level, anticipation and fear churning in his belly.

Once the doors parted with a whir, his hands were shaking. But he walked out into the common room with as much confidence as he could muster.

Because, there, stood every Avenger. Alive and well.

They all stopped chatting when they noticed Peter's arrival, most of them sending him comforting smiles. Shuri's face brightened and she gave him an enthusiastic wave, too. Natasha gave him a formal nod, and Clint waggled his eyebrows at the teen.

Tony was the only one to walk toward the boy, giving him a loose embrace around the shoulders.

"Hey, kid." He patted Peter on the back with his prosthetic arm lazily, but his smile spoke more than his words.

"Hi...Tony." Peter emphasized mockingly, and Tony pretended to ignore him.

He then preceded to make his rounds, unable to contain his jittery excitement as he shook Steve's hand. He smiled guiltily when he greeted Bucky and Wanda didn't say much when he gave her a small, awkward hug. Sam called him an asshole, but Peter was sure it was how he welcomed everyone. Right?

T'Challa eyed him warily, bowing his head at the teen. Peter went to give Shuri a high-five, but she dabbed out of it at the last second. He gave her a playful punch on the arm and heard T'Challa cough from somewhere behind him. He blushed.

Next was Clint and Nat, and that went as you would expect. Bruce was next, and Peter couldn't help but notice the faint green lines on his neck. Peter wasn't surprised; he was terrified and excited too, which really is a terrible mix. Didn't do too well with your stomach contents and not bringing them up.

Ant-Man...Scott Pang or something? Peter wasn't sure. Anyway, he pulled Peter into a hug, much to his surprise, whispering something about 'bug-bros'. The Wasp gave him a high-five. Doctor Strange smiled curtly at him and Peter decided not to press it. Captain Marvel, a new addition to the team, gave him a sweet smile and hug.

Sharon Carter was sort of sitting in the corner, seemingly forgotten by the group. He didn't say hi, but gave her a confused, slightly concerned wave from a distance.

Valkyrie was busy taking a swig from her vodka bottle, to pay Peter much heed, so he moved on.

"Ah, Boy of Spiders! Quite spiffing to see you again, Peter Stark-son!" Came Thor's booming voice from next to Peter, quite obviously very drunk. Maybe he sniffed some of that vodka Valkyrie was downing.

"Oh, I'm not Mr Stark's son-!" But he was cut off as Thor brought him into a bone-crushing hug, Mjolnir digging into his back uncomfortably.

When the god pulled away, he gave Peter a small.

"Ah, Peter Parker! Wonderful to see you again!" He repeated, and Peter let out a small laugh.

"Uh, yeah, you too, Mr Thor, sir." He muttered.

A glass materialised in Thor's hand, and he took another swig, finishing it in one gulp. He then turned to Valkyrie, throwing out a hand as he was about to say something, but his mighty hammer came tumbling from his grip.

Instinctively, Peter leant down and grabbed it, handing it back to the Son of Odin.

The room fell deadly silent, every eye turned to stare at Peter in wonder and shock.

And it was silent like this for a good few minutes, Thor's face the most surprised and whip-lashed out of them all, like he had suddenly sobered up. Maybe he had. Tony wasn't smiling or looking shocked. He was just looking at Peter, like he'd known it all along.

"Okay, well, let's get started, shall we?" Captain America coughed out, then the outbursts and laughs began. Peter felt heat creeping up his neck, but he grinned sheepishly.

"Now that the final asset has arrived, after dropping his dearly beloved back-"

"Mr Stark!" Peter exclaimed, outraged.

"-home, so very kindly, we can get down to business." Tony finished, anyway. The racket died down and everyone turned to listen respectfully. Tony was holding something behind his back.

"Peter? You're gonna need this." He said, everyone parting a way for the billionaire to get to the teenager.

Once he was in front of Peter, he let himself look deeply into Peter's eyes for a moment. Peter gave him a knowing look back, hoping Tony wouldn't feel too guilty if anything happened.

Then his mentor held out his hands, the Iron Spider suit gripped in his trembling fingers. Peter took it from him, the soft material under his fingers feeling light. Peter had to fight down the urge to let out a short cry to get out all of his emotions.

Then Tony knelt, hands gripping Peter's upper-arms tightly and eyes drilling into the boys. The kid's eyes...they were so alight with emotion and happiness and...life. He couldn't bare to ever see that change. But here he was, bringing a sixteen-year-old kid into an inter-galactic war, that he was almost certain to never walk away from.

Peter Parker chewed his lip, water biting at his eyes. Waiting, waiting, dreading but anticipating Tony Stark's next words.

He waited-

He wished-

And-

And then-

He opened his mouth-

And said-

"You ready for your next mission?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end of this book! Now, the second book in the Parker Luck series will PROBABLY - I repeat - PROBABLY be out soon. It's called "Hysteria" (and it's also on my Wattpad: LuvForStydia, along with the third book of the series). Byeeee!


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